Revanchism
by Renee Enderson
Summary: The arrogant but gifted Padawan Bastila Shan reluctantly joins the Mandalorian Wars, only to fall in love with the Revanchist himself. Can she learn to fight for more than mere duty before the war destroys both the Republic and the man she loves?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: As promised, here is the Mandalorian AU you've been waiting for! It might not get a steady stream of chapters posted for the month of November due to Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month). The reason being that some of my writing is handwritten so I can keep writing everywhere I go. Nanowrimo is pretty grueling at 50,000 words in 30 days to win. That means that I won't be able to take the time to type in my handwritten chapters into my computer if I want to reach my word count quota each day. In the meantime, I hope this chapter (and possibly the next, as it is mostly written and I just need to type it in this weekend before Nanowrimo begins) tides you over and whets your appetite.

Enjoy!

**CHAPTER 1**

_Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit._

Bastila Shan gazed absently at the rain drops that pelted the window. Coruscant's WeatherNet had clearly malfunctioned that day. It was well into the afternoon in her timezone, and everyone knew that it was only ever supposed to rain at night, if at all. Somewhere a sorry engineer was probably bustling to fix it before the rain ruined some politician's overpriced suit. Worse yet, if it didn't get fixed within the hour, there would be far worse damage than a suit. The poor chap was likely to be fired for such a gross mistake.

Bastila snickered. _A sign of things to come,_ she thought wryly, the gloomy sky outside the window definitely not suitable for an outdoor rally.

Still, she couldn't help but feel a pinch of curiosity. She'd never heard him speak before. Certainly not in person. He was supposedly very charismatic. Already, thousands of Jedi had been swayed to his cause, and even thousands more after the Jedi Council had finally sanctioned the war. All except her.

No, she trusted in the wisdom of the Council. Despite their sanction, the Council still cautioned against any Jedi joining the war. They still maintained that patience should be exercised until the true threat revealed itself. A thought that Revan had scoffed, time and again. But Bastila wasn't about to join him in his brashness. No, she would keep a cool head, and obey the will of the Council.

Still...

Her curiosity nagged at her. Today's rally might very well be the last call Revan would give for the Jedi to join his cause. She might never get another chance.

As if to give her another sign, a ray of sunshine broke through the clouds, the rain abating to a light sprinkle.

_Lucky engineer,_ she thought. _He might yet keep his job._

She looked down at the datapad in her lap. Her studies for the day had been completed hours ago. She knew that continuing to read ahead would be the wiser choice, but her eyes already felt strained. Shifting on her nook on the window sill, she stared back out the window. The sprinkles had already vanished, the clouds fleeing from the sun, though one stubborn thundercloud still loomed ominously in the distance. Nevertheless, the sun looked warm and inviting after so much rain. And she might never get another chance.

She made her decision, and stood up from the sill, pocketing her datapad. The Jedi Temple's study hall was empty but for her. Most Padawans at this hour tended to be with their Masters in training. But not Bastila. Her Master was far too busy with her duties on the Jedi Council. Which was exactly where Master Nomi Sunrider was at the moment—presiding over the Council's session currently in progress. She wouldn't likely get out of the meeting until dinner. Which was to Bastila's advantage. No one need ever know where she was that afternoon. Besides, it wasn't as if she was actually going to _join_ the Revanchists. She had long ago made up her mind concerning them. It was simply curiosity, nothing more.

Bastila made her way out the study hall and down the marbled corridor beyond. If she hurried, she could catch the next transit to the Senate District and arrive at the Senate building before the rally began. She reached the main entrance, giving a brief nod to the sentries, and stepped outside. It was still a bit chilly out, and she couldn't help but shiver as she zipped her hooded robe. She took a deep breath, exhaling the last of her hesitancy, before briskly walking down the marbled flight of steps. No one ever had to know but her.

**.:.**

Quite a crowd had gathered at the rally, despite the threatening shadow cast in the distance by that stray thundercloud the errant WeatherNet had left behind. Besides, the sun melted away any fear of further malfunction. And not even the rain could keep them all away. Not when _the_ Revanchist himself was speaking. The press encamped the outdoor podium, their microphones crammed as close as possible to the stage. A few notable politicians and their security teams likewise crammed close, all trying to stake their claim on the Revanchist for their campaigns. Then there was the rest of the crowd. Thousands of citizens filled the square, with curious Jedi sprinkled among them, ready to give Revan a fair hearing now that the war had been sanctioned.

Unfortunately for Bastila, she was late. Very late. She had missed the train by seconds, and had had to wait for the next one. Now, she stood at the edge of the crowd. She could hardly hear a thing with all the hooting and cheering, let alone see. She huffed in frustration. All this way, just to be shut out in the nose-bleed section. Her eyes searched desperately for any spot that would give her a better view, at least. But it was hopeless. Unless she was a VIP, she'd never...

But, no. She _was_ a VIP. At least, she had been before, somewhat. More that her Master, being the Grand Master of the Jedi Order, was the VIP to the Senate, and Bastila had been granted a staff pass to accompany her from time to time. Bastila groped in her pocket, searching. There it was. She pulled out her Senate ID card. Maybe, just maybe...

She walked toward a nearby security officer. "Excuse me," she called out, trying to be heard above the din.

The officer eyed her warily.

She held up her ID card. "I'm afraid I've arrived late. I'm on Master Nomi Sunrider's staff. Would it be possible for me to get any closer?"

The officer's eyes widened just a little, and by that Bastila knew she had won. He spoke into his commlink, and received a garbled reply.

"Follow me, ma'am."

He deftly steered her around the crowd, circling the edges of the square. They reached the VIP area that was cordoned off from the public. Another officer stepped forward and escorted her past the dividing cord. To her surprise, she was granted standing room toward the front, to the far right of the cameras. Only a thin row of politicians and fawning reporters stood between her and the man on stage.

She at last gazed up, getting her first up-close look at the Revanchist. He was of average height. Tall, but not too tall. There was nothing particularly imposing about his physique. No, that's not what captivated her. Nor was it his masked visage, cloaked in a mysterious hood.

It was his voice. At last, she could hear it quite loudly, even without the help of the outdoor PA. It was mesmerizing, even with the mask's vocabulator distorting it slightly. Smooth. Silky. Deep. Almost..._seductive_. And that was certainly what he had done with the crowd here. They had all been seduced, cheering his pseudonym between his brief pauses. But Bastila hadn't been there long enough to be seduced by his words just yet. She hadn't even caught what he was saying, so enraptured she had become with the cadence of his voice. But at last her rational mind overrode her initial shock. She began to parse his words, critically dissecting them, looking for any excuse at all to pick his little speech apart.

"My friends," he was saying. "We have at last won a great victory. Not one fought on the field of battle, but one fought in our hearts. For too long the Republic's heart has grown cold with fear of the enemy. But no more. Today, our sons and daughters have taken a stand. They have overcome fear with courage. And I tell you now that while the war is far from over, it is that very courage—the courage that stands up to evil and says, 'No more!'—that will win this war. For while we show such courage, they can never claim victory over us.

"And so it is with great pride in the citizens of the Republic that I have watched our ranks swell this past week. We the people are willing to lay down our very lives to keep this great civilization safe. I am proud to be one of them—one of _you_."

The crowd erupted in praise. But Bastila rolled her eyes. As ardent as his voice was, he spoke nothing but rhetoric. It would take far more than mere words to seduce Bastila Shan to his cause.

"Now I know there are some of you here," he said, continuing as the cheers died down, "who have doubts. Some of you are Jedi, like me. Perhaps you are still waiting for the approval of the Jedi Council."

Bastila clenched her fists.

"I warn you: If you are waiting for their permission, this war will pass you by."

Bastila reacted without thinking.

"Liar!" she shouted.

That one word she would regret for a long time to come. Before she knew it, a microphone was shoved in her face. The crowd had fallen so silent she was afraid she had lost her hearing. She caught sight of a camera trained on her.

_Oh, Force!_ she thought. _If Master Sunrider sees this..._

Revan's voice broke through her panic. "If you have an opinion you would like to offer, I do welcome the discussion." His mask tilted to the side curiously, studying her.

But Bastila could do nothing but stare at that mask, frozen in terror.

"Go on, young Jedi. I won't bite."

A small peal of laughter spread through the crowd, before they fell silent again, waiting in anticipation.

"I-I..." She took a deep breath. "You...you act as though the Jedi Council hasn't sanctioned the war. But they _have_. It's been sanctioned for months!"

"If it were truly sanctioned," he replied patiently, "I would be speaking at the Jedi Temple right now."

"Oh, please! If you are _persona non grata _at the Temple, it is only because you use all your camera time to insult the Council every chance you get!"

"Tell me, Padawan. Do your Masters encourage you to go to war, or do they scare you away from it? Because no matter the reason I am not welcome at the Temple, I still tell the truth. The Jedi Council discourages any Jedi from joining this war. I personally know several Padawans whose trials for knighthood were canceled when their Masters found out they wanted to enlist."

Bastila's hands went to her hips, her courage building. "If their trials were canceled, it was because they demonstrated impatience."

"Again, perhaps you will answer this question more directly, Padawan. What is your ultimate duty as a Jedi?"

"To-to uphold the ideals of the Republic, of course."

"And what might those ideas be?"

Bastila crossed her arms, her brow knitting. At last she understood what he was driving at, and she didn't like it one bit. Mostly because she didn't have a good answer. Or, at least, not one that sounded very good for the media. She bit her lip, and mustered an answer.

"To protect the Republic," she said.

He held up a gauntleted hand. "No, the _people_ of the Republic. The Republic is not just an ideal. It is people. Their hopes, their dreams. Their freedom, their safety. Can you honestly say that waiting patiently in an ivory tower for the approval of the Council upholds those ideals? That you are truly doing your duty as a Jedi?"

Bastila averted her eyes for a moment, fresh doubt now gnawing at her mind. The doubt didn't last long, however.

"But the Council says the true threat has yet to reveal itself!"

She could almost imagine him rolling his eyes behind his mask. "They're looking for ghosts that aren't there. I say again, if you wait for their approval, this war will pass you by. And you will have done nothing to protect the Republic, as a true Jedi should."

She would have replied, but he turned back to the crowd, ending their so-called discussion. The microphone was whisked away instantly.

"I would like to remind all of you here why it is I wear this mask. It is because of people. More specifically, because of one person. One person who had the courage to stand up and say, 'No more!' One person who gave her life to do the right thing, and retained her honor. Though the people she defended were slaughtered, and she with them, her courage lives on in us, to carry on the fight. I wear her mask as a symbol of her courage. And I vow today, once again, that I shall not cease to wear it until this war is won!"

The crowd erupted in applause once more, but Bastila wasn't finished. She ripped the microphone from the nearest reporter's hands.

"Not even to eat or sleep?" she said smugly, the microphone carrying over the noise, stunning the crowd to silence.

Revan's shoulders shrugged under his Jedi robe. "A man's gotta shave, sweetheart."

The crowd roared with laughter. Bastila's cheeks reddened. She'd had enough. Shoving the microphone back at the reporter, she stalked off through the crowd, making her way out of the square. But the crowd paid her little heed as Revan resumed his rhetoric. She didn't hear a word he said, her mind still fuming with insults she would have liked to have given him, if only she had been faster on her feet. But just as she was leaving the square, she realized the sun had disappeared. She glanced up to see that the distant thundercloud wasn't so distant anymore. A drop of rain splattered onto her face. Then another. And another. The crowd behind her began to disperse in dismay.

_Serves him right, _she thought.

She only hoped the poor WeatherNet engineer kept his job for making her day.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

_Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit._

All right. Maybe the WeatherNet engineer hadn't _quite_ made her day. What had started as a few rain drops had turned into a torrent. Bastila's robes were soaked. Her hood was up, but that did little to keep the rain out of her eyes, nor did it keep her hair dry one bit.

She finally made it to the shelter of the transit station. If she hurried, she could still make it back before dinner, and have just enough time to change her robes and dry her hair before her Master's meeting adjourned. She raced down the platform toward the train.

And slipped.

She hit the ground hard. Typical of Coruscant's stiff-upper-lip population, no one stopped to help her up. She gingerly rose, and resumed her race to the train, albeit at a more cautious pace, watching for puddles. She was almost there when she saw the train car's door slide shut.

"No!" Bastila shouted. "Wait for me!"

She broke into a run, and found herself running parallel to the train.

"Stop!" But it was useless, and she staggered to a nearby bench to sit, breathing heavily. She held her head in her hands. It would be another ten minutes or so until the next train arrived, and they were notoriously late. Something which the citizens of Coruscant always complained about. Budget cuts to the transit system certainly hadn't helped the frequency of train stops. A ten minute wait between trains was bad enough. Having a train be late on top of it all? At the rate Bastila was going today, she'd be lucky to make dinner at all, let alone with dry robes. And there was still the issue of whether anyone had seen her face on the news.

As if to confirm her worst fears, a nearby holoscreen was broadcasting reruns of Revan's speech. She looked up worriedly, only to see a clip of her yelling, "Liar!"

_Oh, Force, _she thought. _I'm so **kriffed**._

But it didn't end there. The news played it over, and over, and over. Then the commentators got on and started cracking jokes about her. She buried her head back in her hands.

"I'm so kriffed," she murmured aloud.

A deep, smooth voice interrupted her wallowing in self-pity.

"Pardon me, but is this seat taken?" it said.

Bastila looked up slowly to see a Jedi (and a rather handsome one, she thought briefly), his robes soaked much like her own. "No, go ahead," she said. "It's a free galaxy."

The man sat down next to her with a wet squishy sound that made her smirk just a little.

"Won't be free for much longer if the Mandalorians have their way," he said, wringing the water out of one of his sleeves.

Bastila let out a huff. "Please, don't tell me you're one of those Revanchists."

"Guilty as charged," he said. "Still, even _you_ have to agree that was a good speech."

Bastila crossed her arms. "And what makes you think I just came from that rally?"

The Jedi pointed in the direction of the holoscreen.

"Oh." Bastila hung her head, her cheeks flushing red.

"Don't be embarrassed," the Jedi said, slinging a soppy elbow over the bench rest and leaning on it.

Bastila shook her head. "I must be on every HoloNet channel on Coruscant by now. My Master's going to kill me."

"No, I don't think you have anything to worry about. Besides, I thought you handled yourself quite well. Most people would throw up on their shoes being put on the spot like that."

"Yes, well, I wasn't supposed to be there at all." She picked at the sleeves of her robe, looking down.

"Ah, playing hooky, then."

Bastila let out a chuckle.

The next train rumbled up, making the floor shake just a bit, its brakes squealing in protest. Bastila got up, determined _not _to miss the train again.

"Heading to the Temple?" her new friend asked, getting up as well.

"Yes," she said, nodding.

"Care to keep me company?" He offered his arm, giving her a charming smile that might have made her heart stop, if it weren't for her Jedi training. As it was, she couldn't help but crack a small smile.

She politely took the proffered arm. "Sure. Why not?"

He chivalrously walked her to the train door, and they both filed into the small crowd that was boarding the train with them. He let her step inside first.

Bastila took a seat by a window, her new friend sitting beside her. The train accelerated moments later, quickly revealing a stunning skyline cluttered with towering buildings. The view was only dimmed by the gloomy clouds and the raindrops that pelted the windows.

"So," the Jedi began. "Might I ask why you spent your hooky time at a rally you're not supposed to be at? Not to mention one you clearly don't agree with?"

Bastila wrung her hands. "Well, I really was just..."

"Go on." He nodded encouragingly.

"I've never seen him up close before. Never heard him speak, either. Except for those short clips on the news."

"Ah. Curiosity."

"I suppose so." She looked up at him. "I have heard Malak speak before, though. In person."

"Really?" he said, arching an eyebrow in amusement. "And what did you think?"

"Well, it was a few years ago. Back when they were just scouting for the Republic. I sneaked off from the enclave on Dantooine to hear what he had to say."

"I'm starting to see a pattern here."

She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, he was trying to recruit me and a few others."

"Leave it to Alek to recruit under-aged Padawans," he said wryly, giving her a lopsided smirk—a smirk that Bastila found both endearing and attractive. Not that she actively entertained the latter adjective, of course. But the thought did cross her mind nonetheless.

"You know him?"

"Oh, yes. And no, we're not so desperate that we need to recruit minors in order to fill our ranks."

She grinned. "Well, I'm not a minor anymore, but it did seem a bit desperate to me at the time. Anyway, I obviously didn't think much of what he had to say, or I'd be the youngest Revanchist around, wouldn't I?"

The Jedi laughed. "Well, we do get some awfully young recruits now and then, but we tell them to come back when they're older. How old are you, anyway?"

"Almost nineteen."

"Very good. So you've trained at Dantooine?"

She nodded.

"Hmm. I did as well, but I don't remember you. We probably trained at different times. I transferred to Coruscant some years ago."

"Yes, we seemed to have missed each other. I only just got transferred here myself eight months ago."

"You probably know Em, though. From Dantooine?"

"Em?"

"Meetra. Meetra Surik."

"Oh, yes, I vaguely remember her. Malak recruited her, right? I think I was there when he did."

He nodded. "Yes. She just made General, in fact."

"I see."

"So you've told me you don't like Malak's speeches. What about Revan's?"

Bastila crossed her arms. "Oh, please. He's just full of hot air. He must _love _all the media attention. No better than a politician, if you ask me. He's all words. Words don't win wars, you know."

"You're right. Actions do."

To that she had no answer. Fortunately, the train stopped, saving her any embarrassment. They both got up and filed out the door, stepping onto the station platform. Bastila glanced at the chrono on her wrist.

"Kriff," she muttered. "My Master is really, _really _going to kill me."

The Jedi rolled his eyes. "No, she isn't. Come on, I'll walk you to the Temple." He politely put his arm on the crook of her back, steering her forward. But Bastila had noticed his slip of the tongue in referring to the gender of her Master.

"Wait," she said, still walking briskly. "You just used the word _she._ How would you know...?"

"Because I know her," he said. "And, by extension, I know who _you_ are, Bastila Shan."

They had reached the station exit, but Bastila froze in her tracks.

"You might want to put your hood up," the Jedi said, gesturing at the rain outside.

She obeyed, donning her hood, and stepped into the rain hesitantly, wondering what this mysterious stranger knew about her. He continued walking beside her, chivalrously holding his arm above her head to shield her from the downpour.

Bastila finally found her voice. "I-I'm afraid you have me at an unfair disadvantage. I don't know your name."

"Oh, yes you do. You just don't know my face."

Her breath hitched in her throat. They had already arrived at the expanse of marbled steps that led to the Temple entrance, but she didn't dare go up with him.

He turned to face her, still shielding her head with his arm. "You transferred here to study Battle Meditation under Nomi Sunrider. Is that not correct?"

She gaped at him, stunned by his audacity.

"What's the matter? Surprised I'm so handsome?" he said, an infuriating grin spreading across his face.

It took all her Jedi training not to slap him. "H-how _dare_ you...you _stalk _me like this!" Her fists clenched, visibly shaking.

"Oh, you have no idea. I've been following your progress since I first heard Nomi Sunrider had taken a new Padawan. Your unprecedented mastery of Battle Meditation in only eight months is most impressive. Master Sunrider must be very proud."

Bastila shook her head. "How...how could you possibly know? Only the Jedi Council was supposed to know why I transferred."

He chuckled. "I have my ways of finding things out."

"Why are you here? Are you trying to recruit me? Because I'm not interested in joining your little crusade."

"But I _am_ interested, I'm afraid. You are the sole reason I've come to Coruscant. The rally was merely incidental. You can only imagine my surprise when I saw _you_ there."

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you. You've come all this way for nothing."

He shook his head. "I don't believe that. You wouldn't have showed up at that rally if you weren't at least a bit restless. I know you must have your doubts."

Bastila could take no more of him. "Regardless, I refuse to entertain them. Or you, for that matter. I suggest you leave."

She walked through him then, her shoulder pushing him aside, and marched up the stairs, trying not to slip on the slick marble. But Revan would not be dissuaded so easily.

"I refuse to leave here empty-handed, Bastila. You have a very special gift. Don't squander it behind those walls. Not when you can save so many lives. Not when you can win this war."

She spun on her heel to face him. "So let me get this straight. You disingenuously present yourself to me for the entire train ride, you stalk me like some sociopath for months, and to add insult to injury you humiliate me on the HoloNet News for all to see. And I'm supposed to just join you?"

He crossed his arms, still lingering at the foot of the stairs. "I did nothing to humiliate you, sweetheart. You did that all by yourself. If you're humiliated, it's only because I'm in the right. Deep down, you know it, and so does everyone else. Don't think that hiding behind those walls wishing the war would go away will make it so. Coruscant will not be safe for much longer, and neither will you."

To that, she had no reply, other than to turn around and resume her trek up the stairs, her fists clenched tightly. She stopped halfway, glancing over her shoulder to see if he was still there. He was but a few steps behind her now, having closed the distance between them.

"Would you like me to file a restraining order? Go _away_!"

"Not a chance. I have business with your Master and the Council. Like I said, I refuse to leave here empty-handed."

"Fine," she said, and resumed the treacherous hike up the slippery steps.

At last, she reached the door, temptation burning in her to tell the sentries that the lunatic behind her was stalking her. But no, she'd let her Master kick him out instead. It would be so much more satisfying that way. She passed through the door, Revan on her heels. They both lowered their hoods now that they were out of the rain. Their socks made an audible squishy sound inside their boots that echoed embarrassingly throughout the vast hall.

Bastila looked up to see a woman in the middle of the hall, her arms crossed. The graying red hair told her instantly who the woman was.

_Oh, kriff..._

"Hmm, busted," Revan growled behind her.

"Oh, go stuff yourself down a Sarlacc pit, you nerf herder," she hissed over her shoulder.

"Where have you been?" Master Sunrider's tone was tinted with worry.

Bastila bowed her head. "I'm sorry, Master. I..."

That's when the aged Master saw the man who was but a few paces behind her Padawan.

"What are _you_ doing _here_?" she asked, her voice low and stern, though not menacingly so.

Revan stepped beside Bastila, crossing his arms with a smirk. "Corrupting your Padawan. What else?"

"Master," Bastila pleaded, "I can explain."

Master Sunrider ignored her Padawan. "What do you want, Revan?"

"To save as many lives as possible. I need your Padawan's gift."

"I take it she does not offer it freely. She is very wise. And you are very wrong to ask her for it without first consulting me."

Revan shook his head. "It was never my intent to go behind your back. It was mere happenstance that I ran into her. I would have spoken with you first, otherwise."

"Regardless, if she has already made her decision, then I stand behind it fully. Surely it is enough that you now control one third of the Republic's fleet? Must you control every last Jedi as well?"

"Her decision is uninformed, as is yours. Please, allow me a hearing with the Council."

Bastila watched her Master sigh. "Revan, the Council has adjourned for the day."

"Then in the morning?"

She bit her lip, her gaze shifting from Revan to her Padawan. Bastila felt her eyes pierce right through her very being, making her very self-conscious. At last, she looked back to Revan.

"Very well. In the morning. You may stay in the dormitories if you are so inclined."

Revan bowed his head respectfully. "Thank you, Master."

"Don't thank me yet. I have half a mind to throw you out of here."

"I understand. I think your Padawan feels the same way."

She shook her head. "Just...while you're here, try not to empty these halls of the few Jedi we have left, if you don't mind."

Bastila caught Revan smiling from the corner of her eye. "I'm only interested in one Jedi. You may have the rest."

Master Sunrider's control was impeccable. She didn't even roll her eyes. Or clench her jaw. She merely nodded calmly.

Revan turned to Bastila. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said, giving her a wink before striding away toward the men's dormitories.

Bastila whipped her head away in a huff. The man was simply infuriating. And arrogant. And a million other things she couldn't find words for at the moment. But now that he was at last gone, she still had her Master to deal with.

"Master," she began. "I am truly sorry. He wouldn't stop following me."

"We'll speak of this later," her Master said. "Go dry up. I saved you some dinner."

Bastila nodded hurriedly. "Yes, Master. Thank you."

Master Sunrider sighed. "Don't thank me yet. I saw you on the HoloNet News. You have _much_ to explain."

Bastila swallowed hard, her head bowed. "Yes, Master."

She scuttled off, her socks making that annoying squishy sound.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

_Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit._

Bastila sat down for dinner in her Master's study with a sigh of relief. Her fresh robes were dry, for one. And best of all, there was a hot meal waiting for her. She eagerly dug into the steamy rice and vegetables with her fork.

"So Bastila," Master Sunrider said, taking a seat at the table across from her. "May I ask what brought you out of the Temple on such a rainy day?"

Bastila swallowed the bite she'd been chewing, and put her fork down. "I-I'm sorry, Master. You must have been very worried."

"Worried doesn't begin to cover it. You were supposed to be studying." Her Master took a sip of her tea.

"I know, Master. But I did finish early. And I got ahead, even."

Master Sunrider sighed. "That doesn't explain why you went to a rally and got yourself all over the HoloNet News."

Bastila hung her head. "I know. I-I was just..."

"Go on."

"Curious." Bastila shyly looked up.

Master Sunrider nodded her head slowly, a small smile spreading across her face. "You remind me of my daughter, you know."

Bastila cracked a smile herself, but it was quickly wiped away.

"That isn't necessarily a good thing in all respects. You're also headstrong like her."

Bastila hung her head again. "Yes, Master. I'll try harder."

Nomi sighed. "You could have caught your death out in that rain."

As if to hint that she was not yet out of danger of such a fate, Bastila sneezed into her hand.

"See what I mean? I insist you go to bed early tonight. And be sure to grab an extra blanket."

"Yes, Master."

"So is your curiosity sated?"

Bastila nodded, and took another bite of her meal.

"Good. You should drink some tea. It has antioxidants. We need to keep you well."

Bastila swallowed her food, and obediently lifted her tea cup to her lips. It wasn't her favorite kind, but it was decent enough. She blew on it, and gingerly took a sip. The hot liquid burned her tongue slightly, making the tip of her tongue tingle.

"So what do you think of him?"

The young Padawan put her tea cup down. "I...I'm not sure."

"A good speaker."

"I suppose so. All words, though. No substance."

Nomi shook her head. "That's not entirely true. We wouldn't have sanctioned the Jedi joining the war if his words had no substance."

Bastila nodded. "I suppose. It just seems like he loves the media attention more than the cause that is supposedly so important to him."

"That is an interesting opinion. I never quite saw it like that before. He always seemed sincere to me. Still. You put up quite a show in front of him. I'm not sure who won that debate. Not after you made that comment about his taking his mask off to eat and sleep."

Bastila snickered. "Yes, the whole mask thing is a bit melodramatic, isn't it?"

Nomi grinned. "Well, he has managed to get even more followers for it."

"And it's a bit hypocritical."

"Oh? How so?"

"He vowed never to take it off, yet here he is..."

Nomi shook her head. "Do not confuse the symbol with the man, young one. I personally consider it a sign of respect that he removed that thing before stepping foot into the Temple. He has respected you, as well, by showing you his face. I would have already had him thrown out of here otherwise."

Bastila creased her brow, shaking her head. "Forgive me, Master, but how is that a sign of respect?"

"It's a sign of sincerity. Of honesty. That he is not hiding his true self. He is laying himself bare before us."

Bastila nodded thoughtfully.

Nomi took another sip of her tea. "So, any other thoughts on him? Now that you've seen the man behind the mask?"

"No. Not really."

"He _is_ handsome, isn't he?"

Bastila dropped her fork on the table. "Master!"

"It's all right to admit it. I'm not Master Lamar. You are a young woman. He is a young man. It's only natural. And there's certainly nothing wrong with it."

"I-I suppose...All right, yes. I'm sure many women would label him as attractive."

Her Master nodded knowingly. "It's the smile. From the time he was a little boy, I knew he'd make all the ladies swoon."

"Hmph. Is that why all the female Jedi population went to war, then?"

Nomi laughed. "That could be. Though he certainly hasn't seduced you over to his side of things."

"No, of course not!"

"But he made you swoon just a bit. Admit it." She gave her Padawan a wink, her wrinkled grin mischievous.

Bastila's face flushed red. "I-I couldn't..."

Nomi heaved a heavy sigh, shaking her head sadly. "We have a long way to go to unbrainwash you from Vrook's misguided teachings, don't we?"

The young Padawan buried her face in her hands. "Oh, Master! You're not trying to match me with Revan, are you?"

"Silly girl. Finish your meal."

Bastila picked up her fork. "Yes, Master."

Nomi got up to leave. "I'll be in my quarters if you need me. You go to bed early. No romantic trysts with masked strangers, you understand?"

Bastila blushed. "Yes, Master."

But before Nomi could leave, her Padawan had to have one question answered. "Master?"

"Yes?" Nomi replied, hovering at the door.

"You're not seriously considering giving Revan what he wants, are you?"

Nomi paused, averting her eyes for a moment before looking back. "We will consider what Revan has to say very seriously. As we should have from the beginning, perhaps. He has proven himself right, after all. But I don't want you fretting over such things. Get some rest. Sleep in. All of our questions will be answered in the morning."

She left then, leaving Bastila alone with her thoughts. She finished her meal, and headed out to find her own quarters, but stopped first by the dormitory cabinet to grab a spare blanket. At last, she found her dorm, and peeled her boots off, collapsing on her bed without even bothering to change. She was exhausted, and sleep mercifully claimed her quickly. It would be the last night she would spend in the Jedi Temple for a long time.

**.:.**

Bastila awoke feeling like a Bantha had stamped all over her. Sure enough, she had "caught her death" out in that rain. She rolled over on her bed groggily, looking at the chrono on her modest nightstand.

_1023_.

She bolted out of bed. She couldn't believe she had slept so long. Nevertheless, her sore muscles protested such a quick motion, and she had to sit back down. That's when her nose decided to leak. She sniffed, but it was no use. Her hands fumbled for a tissue from the box on the nightstand. If only she listened to her Masters more. Still, perhaps with a bit of tea and healthy eating, she could recover from this mild cold quickly.

She changed her wrinkly robes, and headed out, pinning the tissue box under her arm, as her nose was still giving her trouble. Her stomach grumbled. While it was already well past the standard breakfast time, she made a beeline for the mess hall anyway, and grabbed a piece of fruit from the kitchen.

As she munched on the fruit, the juices dribbling down her chin, she wondered whether the Council was still in session with Revan, or if they had long adjourned. There was only one way to find out. She threw the large seed of the fruit into the trash bin, and left the kitchen, making her way to her Master's study.

It was their usual routine, actually. She always had lessons with her Master in the morning. If it hadn't been for the ad hoc Council session, that's where she and her Master would have been. In her study. Bastila thought to wait for her Master there if she was still in the meeting, and get some more reading done on her datapad. Hopefully that _nerf herder_ would be properly seen out the door, and Bastila's life could go back to normal. If there was one thing Bastila Shan hated, it was having her routine interrupted. She lived for that routine, for that structure. It was predictable. It was safe.

At last she arrived at her Master's study at the end of a winding corridor. The door was closed, however. But she could hear voices. She hesitated a moment, before her curiosity got the best of her, and then tapped on the door lightly.

"Come in," came the muffled reply.

She punched the door controls, and entered, the door sliding shut behind her. Nomi was seated at her desk, a messy pile of datapads littering its surface amid dry stains of spilled tea. A Jedi sat across from her, his back facing Bastila. She ignored him.

"Good morning, Master. Sorry I slept so late. I'm not feeling so good. I take it the Council met already?"

Nomi nodded. "Yes. Please, have a seat. We need to talk."

That's when the Jedi across from Nomi turned in his seat, now facing Bastila.

It was Revan.

Bastila stopped in her tracks a moment, before regaining her control and taking a seat in the empty chair next to him. She did her best to avoid eye contact with him, and instead ripped another tissue out of the box under her arm to pat dry her dripping nose.

"Bastila, the Council has come to a decision. Now before you say anything," Nomi held up a hand, "I want you to hear me out. We did not arrive at this decision lightly."

Bastila nodded, her throat tightening in apprehension.

"Revan has made quite a case. One that we simply cannot ignore. It would be hypocritical of us now if we sanctioned the war on one hand but denied whatever aid is necessary on the other. Not when the Republic's fate is so in doubt."

"The Mandalorians are about to attack the Core Worlds," Revan interjected. "They've launched a two-pronged invasion in an effort to divide our forces. We managed to stop one of the prongs several days ago at Randon. However, the other prong has taken many systems. We've been pushed back to the Core. It's only a matter of days until they arrive. Likely they'll either aim for Corellia or Duros first, before they make for Coruscant. But we're not entirely sure just yet what their first target is."

Bastila still refused to look him in the eye, and instead silently focused her gaze on a datapad on the desk in front of her. Her heart sank in her chest. She knew what was coming next.

"Bastila," her Master continued, "we have decided after great deliberation to send you with Revan. We can stand idly by no longer."

Bastila nodded silently, her eyes still pinned on the datapad.

"This will be for the long term, as well," Nomi said. "Which means you will need a new Master. One who can continue your training while you are in the field." She turned to Revan. "And I stress to you, you _will _continue her training, and you _will_ look after her _personally_."

"I promise she'll learn all that she needs. The real-world experience will do her good."

"Revan, her ability is yet untried. I worry that you place far too many expectations on her young shoulders."

Bastila still couldn't bring herself to shift her gaze from the datapad. She was in deep shock. Her entire world was turning upside down, and she clung desperately to the armrests of her chair, trying to hold onto the comfortable world she knew. The world where everything was black and white, with no shades of gray. The world where everything made sense. Where as long as she did as her Masters told her, she could trust that she was on the path of right. How could the Council do this to her? How could they simply reverse their position, and abandon her to this masked crusader? She had faithfully stood behind their decisions all this time, only to have them betray her. At least, that was how she couldn't help but feel.

Her Master did not fail to note her angst. "Revan, please wait for us outside. I would like a moment alone with her."

Revan obediently left. Bastila could hear the door slide open and shut. Still she did not move her eyes.

"What troubles you?" Nomi's soft voice was laced with concern.

Bastila at last looked up into her Master's eyes. "I-I'm not ready for this. I've never used it before for real." She ripped another tissue, glad that her cold masked that her sniffles were now from unwanted tears that she struggled to hold back.

Nomi sighed. "You're afraid. I understand. It is much to take in all at once. Much is at stake."

"Forgive me, Master. I know I shouldn't be, but..."

"It is a very sudden change. This is why I voted against it."

"You...you voted against it?"

"Yes. It is far too much pressure on you."

A thought occurred to Bastila. "Why don't you go instead? If the Council feels that Battle Meditation is needed?"

Nomi let out a light chuckle. "I am far too old to be playing the General. Battle Meditation is for the young. You know how taxing it is."

Bastila nodded grudgingly. "Yes."

Nomi folded her hands at her desk. "When I first joined the Jedi, I didn't want to be one. Did you know that?"

The young woman shook her head.

"I never felt comfortable holding a lightsaber. My...my husband always said I was special. I didn't want to believe him. But I had a duty to fulfill. When someone has a special gift, it is a crime not to use it for good. You are very special, Bastila. And I don't just mean your gift of Battle Meditation. You have a great destiny before you as a Jedi. I have a feeling you are only just discovering it."

Nomi got up and moved around her desk, and sat beside her student in the now empty chair, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'm still uncomfortable being a Jedi. It was never what I wanted. But it is what is right."

Bastila nodded. "I understand, Master."

"Have faith, young one. This has all happened for a purpose. You have your gift for a purpose."

"I know. I just...Is this really that purpose? What about waiting to see the true threat?"

Her Master sighed. "We are not infallible, young one. And I'm afraid events are in motion that cannot be stopped now. It is what it is. We will face the threat as we are, as best we can. Revan is right, as much as I am loathe to admit it. Waiting for the threat to reveal itself does nothing to stop it. If we wait any longer it will be at our doorstep."

Bastila nodded, blowing her nose into another tissue.

"You'll do fine. I promise to check on you regularly, even if Revan is now your Master."

The young woman smiled. Of all the Masters she'd had, Nomi had always made her feel the most secure. She was like a mother hen, and the Jedi were her chicks. Even those Jedi who were not her Padawans could always feel safe seeking her counsel. She never turned anyone away from the door to her study.

Still, Bastila couldn't believe that she would now be Revan's Padawan, and so suddenly. "Master," she said hesitantly. "Does...does Revan really have to be my Master? I mean...if he's always been considered arrogant by the Council...And he's not too terribly much older than me..."

Nom sighed. "I cannot go with you. My place is here. You know that. And Revan owes us this much in exchange. He may be young, but he was knighted at such a young age for a reason. Besides, he'll only be polishing up the edges in your training at this point. You could learn much from him in preparing for your trials, when the time comes. And," she grinned mischievously, "he just might learn much from you, as well."

"You're not still trying to match us up, are you?" Bastila's eyes narrowed playfully. "It's a bit inappropriate now that he's my Master."

Nomi shook her head. "No, there is no need. I saw the way he kept smiling at you. Though you weren't looking." She gave her Padawan a wink.

Bastila blushed.

Nomi got up. "Come on, you need to pack."

Bastila got up unsteadily. Her world was slipping away faster than she could compute.

Nomi put her hand on her shoulder again. "You'll do fine. Come on."

They stepped outside the study. Revan was leaning against the far wall, waiting patiently.

"Are we settled, then?" he asked.

Nomi nodded. "Yes. She's all yours."

"Very well," he said. He turned to Bastila, a smile playing on his lips. "Pack lightly. I'll meet you out front."

With that, he walked away, leaving Bastila fuming inside. He had gotten exactly what he wanted, and he knew it.

"Don't let him get to you," her Master said, still standing beside her.

Bastila nodded, taking a deep breath to calm herself.

"Come here," Nomi said, and wrapped Bastila in a tight embrace. The young woman awkwardly returned it, not used to displaying such emotion, especially not with the list of prior Masters she'd had.

"You'll do fine," Nomi whispered, and let the young woman go.

Bastila nodded, and turned away, making her way to the dormitories, not looking back at the only person in the galaxy she considered a mother figure, for fear that she would lose all control and cry.

**.:.**

It hadn't taken her long to pack. Jedi didn't tend to have many possessions, other than the clothes on their backs. Just a few changes of clothes, her lightsaber (which hung from her belt, of course), a few hygiene knickknacks, and her datapad. Her slim duffel bag was slung over her shoulder, and her box of tissues was pinned under her other arm as she trekked through the Temple, heading for the entrance. She paused at certain places, saying her goodbyes. She preferred Dantooine for the grassy plains and beautiful sunsets. But this place...It was full of memories of a different kind. More personal memories. Everything up to her transfer here had been uneventful. Dull, even. Impersonal. She had been just another Jedi at Dantooine. Here, she was regarded as special. She had discovered herself. But more importantly, and apart from her gift, she had found a bit of family. Her own mother had given her away at the first opportunity. Here, she had found a new mother, who had mentored her like no other. It had made this place home.

And now, similarly to how she had been torn from her home before, away from her loving father, she was now being torn away from the only _real_ mother she had known. She wished she could have spent more than eight months with her.

Bastila tightened her jaw, resolve filling her. She would do her duty, and make Master Sunrider proud.

She reached the entrance, and brushed a hand against a pillar, saying one final goodbye. Then she stepped outside, into the glaring noon sun. Yes, the WeatherNet was finally fixed. Everything was bright, the buildings radiantly reflecting the light.

But she could not linger. Revan was waiting for her at the top of the marble steps.

"Need me to take your bag?" he said.

Bastila hesitated, feeling trepidation at going alone with this stranger.

She handed him her duffel bag, which he slung over his shoulder. Then she glanced back one last time before falling into step behind him, leaving behind her old life, and treading her new path.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

_Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit._

They spent much of their train ride to the spaceport in an awkward silence, interrupted only by Bastila's occasional sneezes and the periodic stops the train made at its various stations. Bastila stared out the window of the train car nearly the entire ride. This time, the sun was shining, with not a raindrop on the window to obscure the view of the towering skyscrapers rushing by. Revan sat across from her, clearly giving her her space. Despite having her gazed fixed outside, Bastila could still tell Revan was staring at her, studying her. It was a bit unnerving, but she shrugged the feeling off. She wouldn't let him rattle her. As it was, she struggled to sort out all the other feelings flooding her mind.

He was her Jedi Master now. She felt uncomfortable with the entire situation, to say the least. She didn't know how to react, or what to say. All she knew is that her duty now rested with him. And she would do her duty. Nevertheless, she didn't know what that fully encompassed, now that Revan was her Master. It was one thing to use her gift. It was an entirely different thing to sit at the feet of this rebellious young Jedi and learn from him. What could she possibly have to learn from someone not much older than herself?

She shifted her eyes from the window to steal a glance at Revan. He was maybe ten, fifteen years older than her. And perhaps even those two numbers were stretching it, the tired lines under his eyes making him appear older than maybe he even was. All she knew is that he had been knighted at a remarkably young age. Regardless, he was hardly old enough to be her Jedi Master yet. He should have been taking a much younger Padawan under his wing—a child. Not her. She didn't care that so many Padawans and Knights called him their honorary Master. She was not one of his fanatic followers, fawning over his every word of "wisdom." No, she had more sense than that.

"See something you like?" That smooth voice interrupted her thoughts. The mouth attached to that voice twitched upward in a knowing smile.

To her horror, Bastila at last realized that the brief glance she had intended to take had morphed into staring. And now her staring had morphed into gaping.

"I don't blame you, really," Revan said. "I am ruggedly handsome, after all."

Her gaping ended there. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. She was supposed to call this man _Master_? He was being entirely inappropriate.

"I just wanted to ask you a question," she said, trying to cover up her embarrassment.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Where are we headed?" she asked.

His expression turned serious, the grin disappearing from his face. "Corellia," he stated. "We'll rendezvous with the fleet there."

She nodded silently, and pulled a tissue out of her box. It was probably her hundredth tissue that morning.

"Have you ever been there?" Revan asked.

"No, Master." She had nearly choked out that last word. Not so much out of disrespect, but more out of awkwardness. However she felt about his behavior towards her, let alone his conflicting ideals, she was determined to honor the Jedi Council, even if that meant having to honor Revan with the respect due a Master.

Revan clearly sensed her discomfort. He frowned slightly, his brow creasing in concern. Bastila turned away, staring back out the window. She didn't want to deal with this. Not yet. He was obviously done joking around. Maybe, just maybe, he'd leave her alone to her thoughts, rather than lecture her on showing respect to her new Master, rubbing it in.

But it was not to be.

"I'm sorry," he said.

That was the last thing she had expected to hear from him. Those two simple words made her turn her gaze back to him. Still, her jaw tightened, not sure what he really meant. Her eyes searched his questioningly.

"I know this has all happened very fast," he said. "I understand you need time to adjust. And I wish I hadn't needed to drag you into this. I really do."

He paused, pursing his lips. Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands folded together. His gaze was piercing, and Bastila had to steel herself not to turn away.

"Listen," he said. "I'm not out to make you see things my way. But despite our differences, we need to come to a truce. I'm not asking for your loyalty, because I know I haven't yet earned it. But I _am_ asking for your respect. I need to know that when the time comes, you'll follow my orders without question."

Bastila held his gaze for a few moments, pondering her response. At last, she slowly nodded. "I do respect you, because I respect the Jedi Council. They appointed you as my Master, and out of respect for them, I fully intend to show _you_ respect, as well as follow your orders."

Revan nodded, a small sigh of relief escaping his lips.

"However," Bastila continued, "you seem to be confusing respect with loyalty. I _will_ question your orders, even if I have to follow them. Because if you think for one moment that I will just _unquestioningly_ follow you like one of your mindless _minions_-"

Revan broke into a grin, laughing.

Bastila's eyebrows shot up. "What exactly is so amusing?"

Revan stifled a chuckle. "You have such a lovely accent."

"I-I don't see how that is relevant-"

"You're blushing."

"I-I am not...How could you be so-!"

"I wonder: Are you blushing because of the compliment, or the source of the compliment?" His grin was absolutely infuriating.

"How could you even suggest...!"

"It's only a compliment, Bastila. I take it you haven't had one in a while?"

"Your 'compliment' is inappropriate. You're supposed to be a Jedi! And given our relationship-"

He broke into laughter. "Relationship? Sorry, sweetheart. I don't think we can have one as long as I'm your Master. But maybe after you're knighted, if you're still interested..." He shot her a wink.

Her face flushed several more shades of red. "That's not what I meant! I only meant that-"

"Relax," he cooed, raising a hand to calm her. "I meant what I said. About your accent. It _is _lovely. Melodious. And I mean nothing inappropriate by saying so."

"It-it's still not appropriate..."

"A compliment is always appropriate if it's true," he said. His smile was still mischievous, but somehow it warmed her, making her face flush even further. Thankfully, he didn't rub it in any further. "I can't quite place it, though. Your accent. It's clearly Core Worlds, but not quite Coruscanti. It's laced with something...else. Might I ask where you were born?"

Bastila snorted. "You mean you didn't find out while you were stalking me?"

Revan shook his head, and leaned back into his seat. "I'm not a psycho-stalker, Bastila. That's why I don't know _everything _about you."

Bastila crossed her arms, and resumed staring out the window. She wasn't about to answer his idiotic questions. Nor would she respond to his goading. An itch in her nose told her it was time to pull out another tissue.

"Were you born on...Andara?"

She didn't answer.

"Were you born on...Brentaal?"

She rolled her eyes. He clearly was not going to allow her any peace and quiet until he had his answer.

"Were you born on..."

"Talravin," she said flatly.

"Ah. That sounds about right. Well, as I said, your accent is very lovely. I wouldn't mind hearing you speak more, like yesterday."

She felt her cheeks flush again.

Thankfully, the train squealed to a stop, sparing her any further goading from Revan. It appeared it was their final stop, signaled by Revan rising from his seat.

"Here we are," he said, slinging Bastila's duffel bag over his shoulder, a gentleman through and through.

She followed him off the train, holding tightly to her tissue box. They walked to the landing dock, which hosted multiple landing pads suspended high in the air amid the towering skyscrapers. A small crowd bustled here and there, loading and unloading. Revan led Bastila toward a particular landing pad that hosted a lightweight corvette ship, its white paint accented with Republic red.

He took out a remote from his pocket, clicking a button. The ship's ramp lowered, and they boarded. He led Bastila to the ship's cockpit, and seated himself at the pilot's seat, setting her duffel bag down beside him.

"Have a seat," he said, flipping a few switches on the controls.

She seated herself next to him in the copilot's chair, taking a brief moment to look out the viewport at a stunning view of the city's skyscrapers.

Revan flicked a few more switches, and the engines roared to life, making the cockpit shudder slightly. He turned to her. "Do you know how to fly?"

She shook her head.

"Hmm, we'll have to remedy that."

She sneezed, and pulled out another tissue.

He winced. "And we'll have to remedy that as well. But first thing's first. Buckle up." He buckled his safety belt, and she followed suit.

Speaking into the comm, he requested clearance to take off. A moment later and it was granted. He pulled back on the throttle, and slid the craft into the sky with practiced eased. The skyscrapers grew smaller and smaller, until they finally disappeared in a shroud of clouds. At last, those, too, disappeared, leaving only a magnificent view of the upper atmosphere and stars, the sun gleaming through the viewport. Then all those finally disappeared, as the viewport filled with the swirling stars of hyperspace.

They unbuckled their safety belts. "Come on," Revan said. "Let's fix that cold of yours, shall we?"

He slung her duffel bag back over his shoulder, and led her out of the cockpit, down the winding corridor. They reached a small storage facility, which doubled as a kitchen. She watched as he set her bag back down and rummaged through the cabinets and crates, pulling out various fruits, vegetables, and a few ingredients Bastila couldn't even name.

"What are you doing?" Bastila asked, her voice muffled from stifling a sneeze.

"Fixing that cold." He popped open the lid to the kitchen's synthesizer top, and began stuffing the machine with the various ingredients he'd collected.

"Why...don't I just...head to the medbay." Bastila sneezed into her arm, and pulled out another tissue.

"Yes, but this will _cure_ your cold. Trust me. You don't want to spend who knows how long in space with a cold. Space travel is uncomfortable enough as it is."

She sneezed again. "I know how to feed myself vegetables."

He shoved the last ingredient in. "Trust me," he said with a wink, and closed the lid, pressing a button on the synthesizer. It roared to life, drowning any protest on her lips. He let it spin for several seconds before turning it off and pulling out a glass from the cupboard. Finally, he held the glass under the dispenser, and a putrid green liquid oozed out.

"Here," he said, passing her the glass.

She eyed the slimy liquid dubiously, her nose crinkling in distaste. The concoction was bubbling, like some malevolent brew in a witch's cauldron.

"Trust me," he said. "Your old Master does. So should you."

She grudgingly took the glass from his hand, and held it to her nose. Still, she hesitated. It smelled as awful as it looked.

Revan nodded at her. "Drink it. You'll feel much better for it later."

She held her breath, preparing for the worst, and gingerly took a sip. But she hadn't been prepared enough. She spat it out, coughing.

"Force! Are you trying to poison me?"

"Of course not. Now drink it."

"You're insane! I'm not drinking that gizka poison." She put the glass down on the counter.

"Bastila, trust me."

She crossed her arms. "Why should I?"

"Because I promised Master Sunrider I'd look after you. And so I am."

She eyed the glass, debating. He seemed sincere. Maybe, for the sake of her old Master, she should trust him in this small thing, as part of that truce...At last, she slowly picked the glass back up.

"It helps if you pinch your nose," he said.

"Huh. _Now _you tell me." She obediently pinched her nose, holding her breath once more, and decided to get it over with in one swig. A few swallows later and she came up coughing.

"That's it," Revan said. "Now finish the rest."

She obeyed, and drained the last of it, gagging all the way.

"See?" he said. "Not so bad."

She coughed into her hand as he took the glass from the other. "That was absolutely revolting. Where did you ever get such a remedy?"

He rinsed the glass in the sink. "Glad you like it. One of my old Masters used to give it to me as a small boy whenever I took ill."

"Which one?"

"Kreia."

Bastila snorted. "Figures." A disturbing image of an old woman with long, white braids dangling over a bubbling cauldron invaded her mind. She shook her head to dislodge it.

Revan dried his hands on his robes. "Come along," he said. "It's a two-hour flight. Why don't you sleep off that cold?"

She nodded. "Yes, Master." She had said that last word more softly this time, and she noticed that he smiled slightly in response. Not a smug smile. A warm smile. She felt her own lips curl up. Maybe, just maybe they could make their truce work. As long as he wasn't rubbing in his authority over her, she could live with this situation.

Revan picked up her bag and pushed past her into the corridor, with her trailing behind. A few corridors and several sneezes later, and they were at the door to her own quarters. Revan opened the door for her, and she stepped through. The room was small, with a bed tucked on the side. In fact, it was small even by Jedi standards, and that was hard for Bastila to admit, given that she was a member of an order of galactic space monks who were used to going without. Still, it was all hers, and she was grateful for the chance to lie down and rest.

"My own quarters are right down the hall if you need anything," Revan said, depositing her duffel bag in the corner.

She nodded as he turned to leave. But something about what Master Sunrider had said nagged at her. In fact, it had nagged at her since the prior evening. And for her sake, she knew she had to say something to Revan about it.

"Thank you," she said.

Revan stopped in his tracks, hovering at the doorway. He turned around, raising an eyebrow. "What for?"

"For showing me your face. Master Sunrider said you were showing me respect by doing so. Thank you."

He nodded, clearly surprised that she would say anything like that. "You're welcome," he said.

"You're a hypocrite, though. For taking it off."

He smiled. "Guilty as charged. Though I never took my vow that literally. But, yes, I'll admit I'm a hypocrite. What is a hypocrite but one who wears two faces?"

She smiled at the pun. "And which face am I seeing right now?"

"My real one," he said. "And...yesterday, you did as well. On the train. I have to say I enjoyed being myself around you. I only hope you found my company as pleasurable as I did yours."

She said nothing to that, debating what to say. Her pride wouldn't allow her to admit she had enjoyed his company, though she knew very well she had. And if she were to be honest, she found herself enjoying his company right then. He was a conundrum. One moment he was a gentleman, the next he was a mischievous rogue, and the next...The next he was the Jedi General, a symbol. Her curiosity had gotten the best of her, and she wanted to see more of who he really was. Because if he was just a man, and not a symbol, then she needn't be intimidated by him. He had strengths and weaknesses, just like anyone else. Just like her. He could come down from his pedestal, to her level.

His smooth voice interrupted her thoughts. "Have a good rest, Padawan Shan," he said, slightly bowing his head. "I'll wake you when we arrive."

"Thank you. And..."

"Yes?"

"I suppose if you wish to hear my accent, then it's only fair if I get to see your face again?" A smile curved her lips. She could be just as mischievous and goading, if she wanted. If it was a competition he wanted, it was a competition he'd get.

He accepted the challenge, returning her smile with a lopsided grin. "So you _do _think I'm handsome? I knew it!"

Bastila rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh.

"Well, regardless, I accept your offer," Revan said, shooting her a wink.

He left her, the door sliding shut behind him. She eyed her bed, feeling the weariness seeping through her. Yes, a nap would do her well. She put her tissue box down beside her bed, and began to undress, peeling off her boots, then her pants, and the rest, until she had nothing on but her undergarments and shirt. Finally, she slid between the sheets, and stared up at the ceiling as she waited for sleep to claim her.

As she drifted off to sleep, her thoughts wandered to Revan. He had cracked her open. It disturbed her. A large part of her wanted to like him, despite not agreeing with him on virtually anything. But what bothered her was that she didn't know _why_ she wanted to like him. By all counts, she shouldn't like him. A defiant Jedi like that shouldn't even be her Master. What could possibly possess the Council to appoint him to be her Master when he didn't even obey them? She felt torn between two sides, and yet confused as she saw the two sides begin to merge into one, with her getting squished in between. On top of it all, she was being pushed into the center of a war. And she didn't know who to turn to. She should be able to turn to her Master for guidance. But could she really turn to Revan for that? The answer was no, she couldn't. And that answer made her feel very alone.

Her sleep was uneasy, to say the least.

**.:.**

A knock on the door woke Bastila up.

"Get up," a voice said, muffled. "We're about to drop out of hyperspace."

She lay in bed for several minutes. At last, she opened her eyes. It was a mistake. She felt like death. No, worse. Like death itself had committed suicide. Her stomach cramped, causing her to fling herself from under the bed covers and bolt for the nearest 'fresher outside her room.

She barely made it in time. Her body convulsed as her stomach emptied its contents. That's when Revan decided to stumble in.

"Oh, sorry about that," he said, after she resurfaced. "I forgot to tell you. That drink sometimes makes you feel a bit sick when you first get up."

She lifted her head, looking at him with a horrified expression.

"A small side effect of the Gingka root. It's an excellent cleanser."

"_Cleanser?_" She was irate. "What in Hoth's frozen tundra did you give me?"

"You feel better though, don't you?"

She paused, taking stock. Come to think of it, she did feel a lot better, now that her stomach contents had been disposed of. No. Wait. Was that a sneeze coming on? She sneezed into her hand violently.

"You might need a second dose and some more sleep before it's entirely gone."

A second dose? He was never coming near her again with any beverage.

Her gaze flitted down to her bare legs. That's when she remembered she had worn nothing but a night shirt and undergarments for her nap. And that's all she had on right now. Right in front of _him_. She looked up, only to find him ogling her legs, his eyebrow arched in mild amusement, the beginnings of a smirk on his face.

"You really should put something on," he said. "I may be a Jedi, but I'm still a man, sweetheart."

She turned a whole new shade of red, and bolted for her quarters with a yelp, pushing past him.

She put on her robes in a hurry. That man infuriated her. And here she had to call him _Master_, even though he certainly didn't act like one. Still, he somehow managed to draw her in, to break though her walls. First yesterday, and now today, despite her resistance. Was it simply curiosity drawing her in? Or something more?

_Master Sunrider was right_, she thought wryly. _It's the smile._

But she'd never tell _him _that.

She grabbed her duffel bag off the floor and made her way out of her quarters to the cockpit. Revan was already seated in the pilot's seat. She sat down next to him in the copilot's seat, trying to avoid eye contact.

"Before I forget," he said, reaching into a robe pocket. "This is your dog tag. I took the liberty of having it made before I left for Coruscant."

She took the dangling dog tag from his hand, still trying to avoid eye contact. Looking down at her palm, she studied the rectangular device attached to the chain. It could be electronically scanned for the information it stored in its memory, but it also had her name and rank emblazoned on one side.

_Bastila Shan. Commander. _A serial number was scrawled beneath. It made her blood boil. That he had had this made in advance...It was the epitome of arrogance. She slipped the chain around her neck with a slight huff.

A few moments later, they dropped out of hyperspace. Bastila gazed out the viewport in curiosity. Corellia, a jewel among its four brothers that orbited the system's sun. It glowed with the lush green of forests and the vibrant blue of its oceans.

"Lovely view, isn't it?" Revan said.

She nodded, still taking everything in. In orbit above was a massive shipyard surrounded by an even more massive fleet of Republic ships. Two _Inexpungable_-class capital ships circled the globe, surrounded by the clutter of the various _Hammerhead_-class ships slaved to them. But another capital ship loomed in view, slightly smaller than the the other two.

She suddenly felt ill. There were so many. So many ships, so many people aboard each ship. And it hit her. She would responsible for them.

Revan noticed her sudden anxiety. "Are you all right?" His hand hesitantly touched hers.

She instinctively flinched, causing his hand to withdraw as if burned. "Sorry," she said. "I-I just...I've never...I don't know if I can..."

"You'll do fine," he said. She hesitantly looked up at him to see him intently leaning toward her.

"How do you know? I've never done this before."

"Because I know you'll do your best."

"But I-"

"Look. Just...don't see them as people. See them as numbers. It helps."

She was incredulous. "But I thought you said in your speech it was about the people?"

"It is. But once the battle starts...You can't save them all. It will drive you mad trying. What you _can_ save are the people _they_ swore to protect—their loved ones at home. They know what they're giving up."

She turned away, staring back out the viewport. She wasn't sure she could simply see them as numbers, nor was she certain it was right to do so. But even if she tried, would her Battle Meditation allow it? She always had to form small connections to those around her first, before she could influence their morale. How could she ever see mere numbers? It was callous advice he had given her.

Their ship flew closer to the smaller capital ship. "See that ship?" Revan said, obviously uncomfortable with the silence. "That's my new flagship. The _Ravager_."

She laughed. "They gave you that tiny one? I can't say I'm impressed."

He chuckled. "Don't let the size fool you. It's one of the new _Centurion_-class ships. They're more maneuverable, and more automated. They don't need as big of a crew because of it. Also makes for larger living accommodations."

"I see."

"It just got out of dry dock. I haven't even stepped foot on it yet."

"Really? Haven't you had a flagship before this, then? I thought you've been a fleet commander for a few months already."

"Yes. But my last ship...Let's just say I might have used it as a giant missile." He grinned sheepishly.

She whipped her head towards him, both her brows going up to her hairline. "You threw away a billion-credit ship in some suicide run?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "The ship had already lost its shields. It would have been blown to bits anyway. We got the crew off first, though."

"I should hope so. But then again, they're just numbers," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

He shook his head. "I'm not that cold-hearted. You simply can't try to save everyone. Otherwise you'll save no one."

She turned back to the viewport. The _Ravager_, as well as the various _Hammerhead_-class ships flanking it, was now growing larger as their corvette circled around, preparing to land in the hangar.

Revan spoke into the comm. "_Ravager_ Control, this is ST-321. Code Clearance Blue. We're starting our approach to the hangar. Please deactivate the security shield."

Static filled the comm, until a voice finally replied. "Security shield is deactivated. Follow your present course. Welcome aboard, General."

Revan suddenly got up from his seat. "Bastila, would you mind taking the controls for me?"

"What? But I don't know how to-"

"I'll be right back," he called out over his shoulder, disappearing from the cockpit.

She looked out the viewport nervously. The hangar was looming closer and closer, but their own ship was drifting off slightly in the wrong direction, destined to crash into the side of the hangar. That's when she realized he hadn't even put the ship on autopilot.

"Oh Force," she muttered nervously, her eyes raking over the copilot controls. She wrapped her hands around the stick, and tried to nudge the ship back on course toward the hangar. It was closer now, the door to its gaping maw preparing to swallow their ship whole.

She had no clue how to land, or where. The comm confirmed her cluelessness. "_Ravager _Control to ST-321. You are off course. Please follow the indicators on your head-up display."

"But I don't know where it is!" she shouted. But the operator on the other end didn't hear her. She hadn't spoken into the comm. She didn't even know where the button was to activate it on her end.

Her eyes frantically scanned the vast array of controls. There was a transparent screen just above the dash, through which she could see out the viewport. What caught her attention were the flashing red arrows. She took a wild guess that she was supposed to turn the stick in that direction.

She turned it too hard. Now the arrows were flashing on the opposite side of the screen frantically. An alarm went off. She looked back up at the viewport. The ship was going to miss the hangar entirely.

"Revan!" she shouted. She yanked the stick in the opposite direction, causing it to zig-zag sharply back toward the hangar.

"Revan!"

Revan stumbled into the cockpit. "All right! I heard you the first time!" He seated himself in the pilot's chair, and grabbed the stick. "I told you to take the controls, not crash us," he said, a slight smirk on his lips.

Bastila breathed a sigh of relief as Revan corrected the ship's course, bringing them into the hangar. At last, the craft touched down with a small lurch.

Revan powered down the craft. "Well, there we are. How did you like your first flying lesson?" His grin was beyond infuriating.

"You think this is funny?" Bastila said, her face red with anger.

"No. But now you know where the head-up display is, don't you?"

"You couldn't just show me yourself and supervise me like a normal Master, could you?"

"But now you'll never forget what you learned," he pointed out. He got up from his seat. "Come along."

She didn't move. "What was so important that you had to leave the cockpit in the middle of landing the ship?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Nature calls."

Bastila unbuckled her seat belt in a huff, and slung her duffel bag over her shoulder. She began to fervently recite the Jedi Code, trying desperately to shake off her anger. Perhaps the Jedi Council had assigned him as her Master to test her patience. If that was the case, she was certainly learning patience the hard way.

As her head began to cool, she watched as Revan donned his mask, hood, and gauntlets. Oddly enough, her heart sank a little at that. She had enjoyed seeing the man behind the mask, even if just a little, and she feared he would now be lost again, despite their joking agreement to exchange her accent for his face. She brushed the feeling aside, and followed him to the boarding ramp, stepping into the bustling hangar.

"Attention on deck!" someone shouted. Several dozen crewmen snapped to attention.

"Now you know why I like to go without my mask sometimes," Revan muttered so that only Bastila could here. "Carry on!" he shouted.

"Oh, please," she said quietly. "You surely must enjoy the attention."

"No. Not really. But are you saying you _would_?"

Mollified, she fell silent.

A brown-haired woman in Jedi robes was walking toward them as they made their way to the hangar exit.

"Em!" Revan said, raising a hand in greeting.

The woman bowed at the waste. "General."

"No need for that. You know better. Bastila, you remember General Surik, don't you?"

Bastila inclined her head slightly in a casual Jedi greeting. "I do."

The General returned her curt bow and smiled at her. "Wow," she said, turning to Revan. "How'd you do it?"

"Pay up." He held out his gauntleted hand expectantly.

She reached into her robe pocket, pulling out a few credits. She counted the credits as she slapped them into his palm. "Twenty. Forty. Forty-five. And fifty."

"Pleasure doing business," Revan said, pocketing the money in his robes.

Bastila watched the entire exchange in confusion.

"You should have commed ahead," the General said, smiling. "I would have had a proper welcome arranged for you."

"Absolutely unnecessary. But I did send Padawan Shan's paperwork ahead. To finalize everything."

"Yes, I made sure the personnel office rushed it, per your orders. But I didn't actually think...I mean..." She turned to Bastila, "Sorry, but you're the last person I would have thought would join up."

"Um, no problem," Bastila said, still confused.

The General turned back to Revan. "Everything's set. I picked up both your commlinks."

Surik handed her and Revan each a ship commlink. They both pocketed them.

"Oh, and..." Surik fumbled in her robe pocket. "Sorry. I've got the standard ship welcoming package on my datapad. I can sync it to yours. Save you a trip to the personnel office. It's got a map of the ship and everything."

They each in turn gave their datapads to the General.

"So is the ship almost ready?" Revan asked as the datapads synced to hers.

"Almost. They're testing the slaving functionality with the cruisers. First ship of the line, entirely new system. Last chance to get a software patch before we set her loose. But it should be ready before they get here."

"Very good. Any news on Alek? Is he back yet?"

"About that..."

Revan held up a hand. "That's all right." He turned to Bastila. "Why don't you get something to eat, maybe find your quarters? You should try to sleep off that cold."

Bastila nodded, wondering if Revan was trying to keep her out of the loop. Perhaps she had displayed too much anxiety earlier. He did seem..._protective_. She didn't find that reassuring. It meant bad news.

The General handed Bastila's datapad back to her. "All set. I marked your quarters out for you on the map."

"Thank you," Bastila said, taking the datapad with a curt nod. She walked toward the hangar exit, her datapad displaying her location in the ship. She took one last look back to see Revan and Surik walking not far behind her, clearly heading for somewhere more private. Revan gave her a nod that told her to keep going. She turned back, and followed the map down the corridor. She couldn't see Revan's face, but she knew he was concerned. And that, in turn, concerned _her_. Her anxiety rose. They weren't all numbers, and she knew she couldn't save them all.

**.:.**

Revan stood on the ship's bridge, looking out the viewport. The view was blocked by the various _Hammerhead-_classcruisers circling about. General Surik stood beside him. All around them, a multitude of technicians and officers were busily conducting their tests, including two admirals and one ship captain barking orders at them.

"So," Surik asked. "How did you ever convince the Council to let her go?"

Revan chuckled beneath his mask. "I told the truth."

"That must've been a bitter pill for them to swallow."

"I think they knew they had to swallow it eventually. They seemed...prepared to accept it."

"Do you really think she can pull this off? I mean, she looked pretty freaked out back there, and the battle hasn't even started."

Revan sighed heavily, his mask's vocabulator making a slight crackle as the air passed through. "She'll do her best. That's all anyone can ask. I'll take even a little help from her over no help at all."

Deep down, he wasn't entirely sure, either. But he kept his doubts to himself. He wasn't one to run down his troops behind their backs. Still, he was glad to have kept Bastila out of this conversation. He didn't want her to worry more than she already was. He could only do so much to take her mind off things. Poking and prodding her was one. Giving her an impromptu flight lesson was another. Right now, he wanted her to rest off her cold. He needed her in top shape for what was to come, and that wouldn't happen if she was up all night worrying. Besides, he could worry enough for the both of them. He never could sleep so close to a battle.

"So Alek isn't back yet." Revan kept his gaze fixed outside the viewport, watching the cruisers perform their exercises.

"No. He commed several hours ago. They've lost track of the Mandalorian fleet's position. Cassus Fett slipped right past him."

Revan hissed through his mask. "What was their last heading?"

"Ambiguous. Malak said they were trying to lose him."

"Where's Malak now?"

"Not sure. He blacked out his fleet's communications after his last transmission. The last thing he said was that the other Mandalorian fleet had circled back and caught up with him."

"Mandalore's fleet? From Randon?"

"Afraid so."

"So the hunter becomes the hunted." Revan shook his head.

"Even if they're headed this way, they're still a ways out. They can't possibly join up with Cassus fast enough."

"I know. I'm worried more for Alek. If he gets caught out there...We need him here. We can't let them divide our forces like this."

Surik nodded reassuringly. "He knows that. He's just got to lose them first."

"What about your pocket technician? Has he found anything yet?"

"Bao-Dur? He's still processing the data picked up from the recce flights."

"He still can't sort out what's static and what's not?"

"Afraid not. The Mandalorians have gotten smarter with masking their ships' 'noise.' He thinks he might have found something, but it will take a while to confirm, let alone triangulate the fleet's position from it."

Revan nodded.

"Malak thinks that based on their last known position, they'll attack either Duros or Tinnel first, before coming here. He wants to split the fleet to protect each."

Revan shook his head vehemently. "No. Our only advantage is concentrated numbers. We can't afford to spread out." He finally turned to face her, gazing into her eyes intently through his mask. "We have got to locate them before they get here. Once we are certain where they'll attack, then we'll move the fleet."

Surik shook her head. "I understand, General, but I can't make Bao-Dur go any faster than he is. He's the best we've got. Force knows he's on a steady stream of caff already."

Revan sighed, and turned to leave the bridge. "Just make sure he doesn't run out of caff."

**.:.**

A/N: Well, Nanowrimo is ruined for me. I ended up strangely stuck on this chapter. You have no idea how many times I've rewritten it. Let's just say I was struggling to get Revan and Bastila off on the right foot. At first, Revan and Bastila were far too harsh with each other. Then I swung the other direction where everything was just perfect. I think I've got the balance right. Finally. I hope.

Regarding the Jedi Exile, yes, I did just finish reading the new Revan book. If you're wondering how I knew her name before the book was even released (see chapter 2), I really don't have ESP. I swear. But apparently some people were able to buy and download the e-Book early, and were leaking her name. As far as my opinion of the book goes, I lean more towards not recommending it. Maybe wait for the cheapy paperback. I was actually disappointed with the binding of the hardback. The hard cover was a bit flimsy, not as thick as it should be. The pages within were thin. I was shocked at the quality. The hardback for "Fatal Alliance" wasn't this cheaply bound. (Yes, I was bored and picked that book up way back when it came out. Needless to say, between that and the Revan book, I don't think I want to pick up another Star Wars EU novel. Ever. There are far better books to read in the universe.) I can report, however, that the slip cover for the Revan novel is cool. The back of it pans to the Emperor (just his backside, sitting in his chair).

As for the contents of the books, I won't give you any spoilers. It's easy enough to go to the SWTOR forums and find out for yourselves. But suffice it to say the first half of the book was missing some character development. I didn't really care that Revan had to leave Bastila. The development on that end was way too shallow. The first half does more telling about what happened between the Jedi Council and Revan than telling. If Drew had only taken the time to show, rather than tell, at the cost of just a few extra piddly chapters, the first half of the book might have really popped. I might have suddenly cared that he had to leave.

The second half of the book picked up the pace much better. I only began to care about Revan having to leave Bastila past the midpoint. Finally, Drew starting putting in the necessary touching scenes to make me care. If only he had done that from the beginning! As far as the ending goes, it isn't my preferred, and it is indeed a bit of a cliffhanger, leading into SWTOR. Very bitter-sweet ending, though more bitter than sweet. And the story continuation for Revan in SWTOR will likely disappoint you. But maybe not. It depends on the individual. (Yes, the NDA has been lifted, and you can get all the spoilers you ever wanted!) Although they did have an even worse story originally in the beta, but I guess enough testers screamed, so they changed the story arc ending slightly. It's made people a bit happier, but ultimately it's still...off. But I don't want to give anything away.

As far as Drew retconning things, I have to say I honestly don't blame him. I have spent so many hours researching Wookieepedia for my story, since I never played KOTOR 2 myself. There are so many conflicting facts on Wookieepedia, it's mind-boggling. I'm not sure if this is because the entries have severe errors, or if KOTOR 2 is just that convoluted, but I'm guessing the latter to some degree. Example: The entries conflict on when Revan discovered Malachor. Some say it was early in the war, while others say it was much later. The entry for "Trayus Academy" makes no sense to me. It says that right when Revan discovered it, he planted his Sith assassins there to train, and hid the fact he had fallen to the dark side even from Malak. That is absolutely nonsensical. Why would he put his assassins there, and then blow them all away with the mass shadow generator? Wouldn't it make more sense that he discovered Malachor closer to the end of the war, used the mass shadow generator, and _then_ established the academy and his assassins? Either (a) Revan's not the military genius we thought he was, (b) Wookieepedia is wrong, or (c) KOTOR 2 is convoluted. I don't blame Drew for not wanting to swim in this mess. It's been driving me crazy.

In advance, I ask your forgiveness if I get anything from KOTOR 2 wrong. Again, I've never played it. And I'm going to go nuts if I get one more contradiction from Wookieepedia. I promise I'm doing my very best to give the game its due, as well as the KOTOR comics (which I also never read).

Believe it or not, I'm really not _that_ into Star Wars. I just make the time to research before I write, so I can make the readers happy. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

_Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit._

**.:.**

_Dear Master Sunrider,_

_I am writing to inform you that Padawan Shan and I have just arrived at Corellia. She is settling in well enough. I did receive your lesson plans for Bastila's training. While I appreciate any insights you can provide on continuing to sharpen her skills, I can assure you that I will be developing quite a regimen of my own for her, as soon as I can set aside the time. Of course, I will gladly include your inputs into that regimen._

_Per our agreement, I promise to continue to send you regular updates on her progress._

_Regards,_

_Revan_

**.:.**

The hardest part for Bastila was the waiting. She lay awake for hours in her modest quarters, staring up at the low ceiling. It seemed to hang over her oppressively, like a giant hand about to crush her. The entire ship felt that way. Every corridor pressed in on her, suffocated her. She felt trapped. She could neither turn back from her duty, nor actually do her duty. All she wanted to do was get it over with, to know the outcome of the battle. But here she was, waiting. Doing nothing.

Bastila awoke with a start, confused at her unfamiliar surroundings. Her heart hammered in her chest as she struggled to sort out where she was. At last, she remembered, and her Jedi calm returned to her. She turned on the light, sitting up. The chrono next to her bed read 0623. She hadn't even remembered falling asleep, but she must have slept fitfully when she did. To her surprise, she felt orders of magnitude better—at least health-wise. Her cold was all but gone. Only a slight congestion remained. Maybe she owed Revan thanks for that. Or maybe it was mere coincidence.

Nevertheless, that settled it. She needed something to do. She had had more rest than she could stomach. Waiting like this, doing nothing, was going to drive her mad. She dressed quickly, and stepped outside her quarters into the narrow corridor. Then she hesitated. Revan hadn't told her where his quarters were, and it seemed too early nonetheless to disturb him.

She decided it was best to try to find the bridge. Perhaps someone there could help her find him. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to learn where it was. She dug out her datapad from her robe pocket, and flicked on the map. It led her to the elevator, which in turn took her to the bridge deck. She nervously approached the bridge doors. Should she knock first? Was there some sort of protocol she should follow?

The door opened on its own, an officer stepping out of it. She stepped through before it closed. Revan was gazing out at the viewport, surrounded by an array of officers relaying commands into comms and to each other. A multitude of ships littered the view outside. At a glance, they seemed to be in formation, conducting various exercises, their fighter squadrons deployed and dog-fighting one another.

Bastila nervously walked toward Revan. Strangely enough, her palms were sweating, and she had to wipe them several times on her robes. She also couldn't help but notice that her breathing had become shallow. The Jedi Code instinctively popped into her head, her lifeline whenever she felt fear.

_Why is that?_ she asked herself. _There's nothing to fear, is there? _

She stopped in her tracks, halfway across the bridge. _He's just a man,_ she thought. _There's absolutely no reason to be intimidated._

She took a deep breath, and wiped her palms on her robes again. _Then why do I feel like some nervous school girl?_

Shaking the foreign feelings off, she stepped forward once more, and at last closed the difference between them. Silently, she slid beside him, and stared out the viewport. Her mouth went dry, and for a brief moment, she had forgotten why she had sought him out in the first place.

It was strange, not knowing what to say. She had always had something to say to everyone. Some opinion to offer. Usually it was unwanted, but she was never afraid to speak her mind nonetheless. But being in his presence felt so...awkward, even after they had broken the ice the day before.

"Good morning," a smooth, modulated voice said. "How are you feeling?"

Swallowing hard, Bastila braved turning her head a few degrees to catch a glimpse of Revan's mask. "Better, thanks."

"You certainly _sound_ better," he said. "You might not need a second dose after all."

Bastila cringed instinctively at the thought of having another dose of that vile drink.

Revan's hooded mask tilted a bit as he cocked his head. "Is everything all right?"

Bastila was somewhat taken aback at the question. "Yes. Yes, of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

"You look nervous."

_Force, he knows! _Bastila swallowed hard again, trying to clear the knot in the back of her throat. "I'm fine," she said curtly, though a bit high-pitched. "Everything's fine."

He nodded slowly, as if not quite convinced. Bastila couldn't tell for sure, though. Not with that blasted mask hiding his facial expressions. She'd give anything to see his face, just so she could try to read him. It was as if the man she'd conversed with over the past two days was somewhere else, someone else. It intimidated her.

_That's it,_ she thought. _That's why I'm feeling this way. It's just a mask. It's just a mask._

Or was it? Was it only the mask? She shook the thought, again an unfamiliar one. She hadn't recalled feeling this nervous when Revan had given his speech while wearing a mask. Nor while she had debated him in public. Why was she so uptight now?

"Have you had breakfast?" Revan asked, interrupting her thoughts.

She realized at last that she was still looking at him, and he at her. She could only imagine a concerned look on his face.

"No, M-master, I haven't." Now she was stuttering. Fantastic. "I...um...I was just...trying to find you. To see if you had anything for me to do."

"Nothing for the moment. Go get yourself some breakfast. That's an order."

"All right," she said, nodding. "And then what?"

Revan sighed, his mask vocabulator making a slight hissing noise. "I'm sorry, but there's really not much time to orient you. There will be after all of this, I promise. The best thing you can do right now is-"

"What? Wait?"

"Look. I just don't want you worried. You need to relax. Master Sunrider informed me that Battle Meditation is very taxing for you. Especially on this scale. I want you rested."

Bastila nodded. "I understand, Master. I just...I can't stand doing nothing."

He let out a chuckle. "You're more like me than you know, Padawan."

Bastila couldn't help but bristle at that. She didn't want to be _anything_ like him.

"I hope that doesn't offend you. I just mean that I can't stand waiting either."

She sighed. "I just want to get it over with."

Revan nodded. "I understand. The worst part isn't the battle. It's the uncertainty before it. Always is for me, anyway."

"So it's like this all the time? The waiting?"

"Oh yes. Sometimes it's because you know they're about to attack you. Other times, it's because you're planning to attack them."

"How do you cope with it? I was reciting the Code all last evening trying to stay calm."

"I don't. I'm usually up all night reciting the Code myself. And I keep busy. There's always too much to do."

Bastila hung her head, staring at her fidgeting hands. She didn't know if she could do this, and she didn't even know when she'd find out the truth.

"Take the time to rest," she heard Revan say. "There's still time for that. Take advantage of it. Leave the worrying to me. That's _my_ job."

She nodded, still staring at her hands. She hadn't expected him to be...encouraging. But he was likely that way with every soldier. It was an attempt to boost morale, so that she wouldn't freeze. It was no different in her mind than her use of Battle Meditation to boost morale. Only, _he_ did it with words.

Still, he had told her something personal, had tried to identify with her, to empathize. Maybe, despite the mask, he wasn't the Jedi General right then, doing what he had to do to boost morale. Maybe he was his true self, speaking heart-to-heart. He had revealed a small piece of himself, had made himself vulnerable to her. He was as uncertain as she was. It comforted her somewhat. Perhaps it shouldn't have, but it did.

"Tell you what," he said, interrupting her thoughts. "You want to help? This exercise is almost over. I have some work to catch up on in my quarters. Why don't you get me some caff after breakfast and drop it by there."

"You want me to pour your caffa?" Bastila asked, arching an eyebrow. So much for his being encouraging. Now he was simply being infuriating.

"You'd do it for Master Sunrider, wouldn't you?"

Her hands went to her hips. "With all due respect, _Master,_" she hissed, her voice lowered so only they could hear, "I didn't come all this way to pour your caffa like a protocol droid."

"You said you wanted to help," Revan said, his voice lowered.

"Not with a menial task that any droid can do," she whispered back.

"It's not menial if it's appreciated. I haven't had any sleep. And it's not out of your way."

Bastila sighed, shaking her head. Somehow, he'd managed to make her feel guilty. "All right. Where are your quarters?"

He chuckled. "Next door to yours. You passed them right by."

"Well, thanks for telling me sooner," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I like my caff with a bit of sugar, no cream."

"Yes, Master," she said, rolling her eyes as she walked away. Though she couldn't help but smile just a bit at how easily he'd guilted her into pouring him caffa.

_Master Sunrider is right again,_ she thought. _It's the smile. Even when I don't see it, I know it's under there._

But she never made it as far as the bridge doors. General Surik ran through, pushing past Bastila with a quick apology.

"Revan!" Surik shouted. "Bao-Dur did it! We've got them! Duros! They're heading for Duros!"

Revan spun away from the viewport. "How far out?"

"One hour. Maybe less. It's all guesswork."

"Force, Em! Why didn't you comm me?"

"Your comm was off. The whole bridge was down for the exercise."

"Admiral Dodonna, recall all ships. This exercise ends now. Have all ships set course for Duros."

A middle-aged woman replied. "Sir, we still haven't completed testing the slave drive switchover. I strongly recommend we finish the exercise. Just ten more minutes, sir."

"Even if there are problems, we don't have time to fix them. I need this fleet in hyperspace in two minutes."

"Yes, sir!" The admiral snapped a salute.

"Em," Revan said. "Please take the bridge for me until I get back. Operation Acid Rain is effective immediately."

He strode toward Bastila, leaving General Surik and Admiral Dodonna barking orders. He took Bastila's arm. "Come with me," he said. She said nothing as she followed him out the bridge, into the bowels of the ship. Her mouth had gone dry.

_This is it,_ she thought. _The waiting's over._

**.:.**

Bastila breathed deeply, trying to steady herself, reciting the Jedi Code over and over again in her mind. She was sitting on a pillow in a private room Revan had reserved for her. Revan had spent all but ten minutes briefing her on Operation Acid Rain. In fact, there was an operation meticulously planned for each likely planet to be attacked in the Core, and Acid Rain was for Duros. The other operations were now on standby, to be modified and deployed should Duros go ill. With any luck, however, the Republic would beat the Mandalorians to Duros, and could set up gravity wells in time to pull the Mandalorian ships out of hyperspace in a location more favorable—away from the orbital cities that floated above the planet.

"Need anything else?" Revan asked, standing beside her.

She shook her head, her throat tightening.

"You'll do fine," he said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and smiling down at her softly. "Just do your best. That's all anyone can ask."

She nodded. His soft smile comforted her somewhat. She was glad he had taken off his mask, now that they were in private. She felt she could relax around him like this, when he was just a man and not a symbol. He must have sensed that. It was the first thing he did when they entered the room—to take off his mask. She knew he did it for her, to help her calm down in any way possible, even with so small a gesture.

"Just remember what I told you," he said. "Don't get too spread out. I'd rather you have your ability focused than stretched thin."

She nodded again. "Yes, Master."

"I made sure my commlink is on. If you need anything at all..."

She nodded.

He quietly left, donning his mask before he stepped outside. Bastila closed her eyes. Her heart rate slowed as her breathing deepened. She would do her best, as Revan had asked.

Time crept by slowly. Agonizingly. They couldn't drop from hyperspace fast enough. She wanted to know what she was up against. She needed to know. At last, the ship dropped. She slipped into her meditation, and a vast expanse of space filled her mental vision. She could see the other ships in the fleet drop out of hyperspace as well, lit like a thousand fireflies, all circling the bright globe that was Duros. Millions of lives on the various orbital cities glowed like little pinpricks of light. It was not unlike viewing a planet from orbit when it was night, with all the lights of the various cities lit up, and combining into a single visual cluster or blob. She'd never seen so many lives lit quite like this, from this perspective. All her Battle Meditation training had been done on Coruscant, on the planet's surface. Never from orbit, and never with a fleet filled with a thousand ships. It was surreal, yet beautiful.

But there was no sign of the enemy fleet. The waiting wasn't over just yet. She observed in her mind's eye the Republic positioning its various battle groups, and setting in place the gravity wells. Still, nothing. She recited the Code to pass the time, trying desperately to get rid of the knot in her stomach.

Then they came. All at once, hundreds of ships dropped from hyperspace in a flash, pulled out from their targeted drop point away from the orbital cities by the gravity wells set up earlier. Bastila's breath hitched in her throat. Though the Republic fleet easily outnumbered the Mandalorian fleet, it was the size of each ship that stole her breath. She didn't know how many Mandalorians were on board each ship, nor how much firepower each ship had. They had to have sacrificed maneuverability, but as the two fleets collided, it became apparent it wasn't merely raw firepower they had traded it for. Their hulls were meant to hold cargo, and a lot of it.

As their ships paved the way into the Republic defense, their hangar doors opened. Out swarmed hundreds upon hundreds of Basilisk droids—the cargo. And flanking them were a host of fighters. Each Basilisk bore a Mandalorian wearing an armored space suit to protect from the vacuum of space. The Republic's fighters tore into them, but not without the Mandalorians' own fighters retaliating. And the Basilisk droids pressed through, slipping past the net that Revan had set. At last, the spearhead of them reached several Republic cruisers. A shock wave of plasma erupted around them, punching through each ship's hull. The Basilisk droids disappeared within, boarding the ships.

Bastila swallowed hard, and inhaled deep breaths, struggling to regain her focus. Determination filled her. She recalled her old Master's lessons.

_Don't bury your fear. Turn your own fear into theirs. Take their courage and make it yours._

But it was easier said than done. She had never done anything like this before. At Coruscant, all her practice had been applied to the citizens living there. To establishing connections to them. Not to enemies. And not under any pressure. Now the pressure she had already been feeling for days increased exponentially. She struggled to drain her fears into the Mandalorians. But worse, when she tried to instill hope into the Republic soldiers, she found she had none to give. Because there was none to draw from the Mandalorians. They were hardened, fearless, but not hopeful. They didn't fight on hope. And in those moments, as she tried desperately to connect with them, to sap their strength, she realized they fought for something else. Honor. Glory. They didn't care if they died to get it. They didn't even flinch when she poured her own fears into them. They welcomed the fear, thrived off it. They fought all the more desperately.

She realized quickly she would get nowhere with them. Her only choice was to focus solely on boosting the Republic's morale. And she would have to do so drawing solely on her own strength, without using the Mandalorians' willpower.

_Focus. I can't let them down._

And finally, finally, she felt the Republic respond to her coaxing. More and more Basilisk droids were stopped in transit. At last, the Republic fleet had encircled the Mandalorians, using their superior numbers and maneuverability to trap them in an inescapable net.

But it wasn't enough. The Mandalorians weren't about to surrender. Not when they had come so far. Somehow, they had outmaneuvered Revan, a contingent splitting off and breaking out of the net of Republic ships before it closed. And out of those ships, more Basilisks emerged. This time, in pairs, with a device strung between them. And they were targeting the capital ships. One nearest Revan's was hit first. A squadron of fighters managed to hit several Basilisks, but one pair escaped. Their target struggled to maneuver away. Even one of the cruisers tried to come between it and the assaulting droids. But it was too late.

_No!_ she thought.

All her might was poured into the Republic fighters and surrounding ships, willing them to move faster, but to no avail.

A bright shock wave filled her vision. The capital ship was no more. All the lights that represented the many lives aboard were snuffed out.

Her heart stopped in her chest. Try as she might to regain control of the Republic's morale, she fell apart.

**.:.**

Revan stood on the bridge of the _Ravager_, staring out the viewport. He could feel the slight touch of the Force on his mind, so soft, like a feather. A strange sense of comfort—no, invincibility—slowly filled him.

It was Bastila.

A smile crept up his face from under his mask. _It's working,_ he thought.

But strangely, as the battle unfolded, something seemed off. The Mandalorians were unaffected. If anything, they seemed to become even more determined—almost desperate, like a cornered beast lashing out for survival, for one last show of power. And they were indeed cornered now. The Republic fleet had encircled them.

Revan snickered. _All those weapons they haul around, and they can't maneuver those bloated ships to use them._

But he knew the fight was far from over. A cornered beast was the most fierce enemy one could face. And the Mandalorians were the most rational enemy he had ever faced, even when they were pushed to the edge of defeat. They relished battle. The rush of adrenaline. Bringing them closer to death only meant a resurrection of their strength.

Revan could identify with the feeling. He was just beginning to realize how much he had become like his enemy in so short a time. Most of the war had been exhausting for him. Little sleep, much planning, and even more second-guessing. But once the battle started, that's when he came alive, when all the planning finally paid off. He could feel his blood rush with each victory. He could feel the heat of anger rise with each defeat, as much as he struggled to remain calm. After so much fighting, he finally understood them. What made them tick. He knew why they sought honor in battle. It was the highest form of control to keep a cool head with one's life at stake. It was a form of demonstrating self-control. And didn't the Jedi pride themselves on that?

Still, he would never truly be like a Mandalorian at heart. They were brutes. They fought for the sake of fighting. There was something that always kept Revan from succumbing to bloodlust. It was people. He fought for people. Yes, he saw those people as numbers. It was the only way to steel himself to do what needed to be done to defeat his enemy. But when it was all said and done, he knew he had a higher purpose, that his cause was more noble. Because numbers or not, he would make sure that they would lose more than he would.

He watched the Mandalorians regroup for a counter-offensive. They would not be easy to put down. They were likely to break out of his net soon. But that's where Bastila came in. With her help, he could pin them there, break their will.

Except they weren't exactly pinned.

A contingent of Mandalorian ships had split off and broken through. And they were headed straight for the capital ships. One of those ships was in direct line of sight of the viewport. He felt his confidence falter, and knew instinctively that it was really Bastila's that had slipped.

He whipped away from the viewport. "Admiral Dodonna, drop everything and stop those Basilisks!" he shouted.

"I'm already on it, sir," the admiral replied. "General Surik is leading her fighters to intercept."

"We can't lose that ship," Revan said.

"We're trying, sir. Captain Walsh, switchover our cruisers to her control."

Revan peered back out the viewport. A pair of Basilisks slipped past fighters, past a cruiser, and deposited their cargo. The viewport lit with a blinding flash of light. The capital ship was no more.

All hell broke lose.

"Weps!" Captain Walsh shouted. "Activate slave drive switchover."

"Activating switchover, aye."

Revan watched as the Republic line controlled by the lost capital ship now began to break. The Mandalorians wasted no time in taking advantage of the confusion. All the cruisers and fighters that had been slaved to the capital ship were now struggling to regain cohesion. If the _Ravager_ didn't get control over them quickly, the Mandalorians would butcher them.

"Sir, only sixty percent of the cruisers switched over. The rest are non-responsive."

Admiral Dodonna cursed under her breath. "What about the fighters?"

"Only twenty percent responsive."

Revan interjected. "Send out a general broadcast. Have them all pull back to us."

Revan gazed out the viewport, watching as the Mandalorians pressed through the confused ships and fighters like paper. There wasn't enough time for all of them to pull back.

"And let's push into them!" he added.

The _Ravager_ and its surrounding cruisers snapped into action, moving forward toward the gap in the lines at a surprising speed. But even as they closed the gap and reinforced the floundering ships, a fresh wave of Mandalorian ships reinforced their own advance. The fleet the Republic had pinned was no longer in the center of the net. It was pressing into this one point, this one center of gravity, with all its might.

Revan's ship was met with cannon fire from multiple points, making the bridge shake. More Basilisks emerged between holes left by the Republic fighters. And they were headed straight for _his_ ship this time. Revan figured it probably hadn't taken long for Cassus Fett to figure out which ship was his. The shiny new one. And Cassus Fett wasn't one to let Revan have a shiny new toy for long.

_No, not again,_ Revan thought. _You're not taking my ship out this time, Cassus. I like this one too much._

"Shields down at fifty percent!"

"Sir," Admiral Dodonna said. "We need to pull the _Ravager _out of range."

"No, push into them," Revan said, his words cold and calculated. "Push right through them. Right up to that ship there." He pointed with a gauntleted hand out the viewport.

_Let's see how **you** like **your** ship coming under assault, _Revan thought.

The _Ravager_ turned away starboard, charging through the myriad of ships battling one another, toward Cassus Fett's flagship. The Basilisk droids closing in turned in pursuit, but were quickly intercepted by a wave of fighters. The _Ravager _covered its assault with its cannon fire, a few cruisers flanking it for good measure.

"Shields at forty percent."

"Continue course," Revan said calmly.

Cassus Fett's ship loomed closer and closer. It was engaged with several Republic cruisers already. It wasn't but mere seconds before the ship was alerted to Revan's charge. It backed away, fleeing its engagement.

_Coward, _Revan thought. _Your father, you most definitely are not, Field Marshall Fett._

"Shields at thirty percent. Twenty-five. Twenty."

"Sir," Admiral Dodonna said. "We have to fall back."

The ship rocked with another explosion.

"We have a hull breach on deck fourteen."

"Fall back," Revan said. "And have Admiral Forost come about and go after Fett." His charge had served his purpose. To flush out the leader, and cut off the serpent's head. And Fett's head was far too easy to cut off when his life was directly threatened. He had lived far too long under his father's protection. He never had to earn his honor. Not like his peers. As a result, he lacked backbone. A fact which Revan exploited as often as he could.

"Sir, we just lost the other capital ship," Dodonna said, her normally steely voice trembling. "Admiral Forost's. His group is too far out to switchover the slave drives."

That's when Revan finally roused himself from the near bloodlust that had come over him. His head whipped around. He caught sight of Admiral Dodonna's eyes. They were dilated with fear. Captain Walsh's eyes were much the same. As his eyes swept the bridge, he realized that every last officer looked panicked, almost irrationally. They hadn't lost yet. They had been through worse. They could still save this battle if they focused. But the focus simply wasn't there.

Then it hit him. He had long ignored the touch of the Force on his mind for the past few minutes, taking it for granted. His mind was not so weak that he needed a morale boost for a crutch, and what influence on his mind he felt from Bastila was easily shrugged off. But now that he paid attention, he realized that the invincibility he had felt before was gone, replaced by panic.

_How long have they been panicked?_

"We just lost another cruiser!"

"Sir," Admiral Dodonna said. "We need to retreat. We're the only capital ship left."

Rage. Frustration. Other feelings he couldn't identify. All of these emotions swept through him at once. A stubborn part of him didn't want to stop, didn't want to give up.

At last, he conceded his defeat, and nodded. "Signal our retreat, then," he said, his voice cold. "And open a comm channel to Cassus Fett."

Within seconds, a holoprojection of a heavily armored, helmeted man appeared at the comm station.

"Are you offering your surrender?" the armored man said, his helmet's vocabulator resonating coldly.

But Revan could match his cold voice. "Duros is yours," he hissed. "But don't get too comfortable. I _will_ take it back."

"Not if I take Corellia first."

Revan smiled beneath his mask. "We'll see about that," he said, and cut the comm. "Admiral, activate the self-destruct on the gravity wells."

"Sir?"

"You heard me. Set the countdown to time with our jump."

A not insignificant portion of the Mandalorian fleet was parked too close to the gravity well devices Revan had installed. This would stall Cassus enough. Just enough to make sure the Republic had time to regroup at Corellia and put up a defense.

Not to mention he wanted to blow as much of the Mandalorian fleet to hell as he could just out of spite. If there was one thing he had learned fighting the Mandalorians, it was to fight fire with fire.

The _Ravager_ jumped to hyperspace with a lurch. He pulled his ship commlink out of his robe pocket. At best, he had bought the Republic a few days before the Mandalorians surged to Corellia. And there was someone he needed to straighten out quickly before they arrived. He felt his frustration rising, and closed his eyes, reciting the Jedi Code. Yelling at her wouldn't help. That much he knew. But he could do nothing to mask the disappointment he felt as he spoke into his commlink.

"Bastila," he said, "report to my quarters immediately." He switched off his commlink before she could reply.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry for the long delay. Let's just say I was on vacation, and that I spent some of that vacation time playing you-know-what instead of writing. Don't worry, I haven't abandoned the story! Just took a break. Fortunately for you guys, there's a good chance I'll be quitting SWTOR as soon as my "free" month is up. It's just meh at the moment. Back to LOTRO. (And writing, of course!)

**CHAPTER 6**

_Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit._

**.:.**

_Dear Master Sunrider,_

_Before you say, "I told you so," I need to know how to fix this. Bastila froze. Actually, it's much worse than that. She panicked, and had the entire Republic fleet do the same. (Are you certain she's not a Mandalorian spy?)_

_How do I unfreeze her? We have precious little time before the Mandalorians advance to Corellia. Any advice you have to turn her around would be greatly appreciated._

_Regards,_

_Revan_

_P.S. If she can't be unfrozen, what is the Council's return policy on their "star" Padawan?_

_P.P.S. And please don't say, "I told you so."_

**.:.**

Bastila's hands shook as she poured caffa into a mug. She had screwed up. Royally. And there was no apology she could even come up with that could possibly make it up to anyone. _She_ had lost the battle. _She _had endangered and destroyed who knew how many lives.

She took a deep breath to steady herself as she placed the mug on the counter. Shakily, she spooned some sugar into the caff, and stirred. The way she saw it, she didn't dare show up to Revan's quarters without some sort of drink offering.

_He's going to send me straight back to Coruscant,_ she thought. _All that training, and I'm useless. The Council will probably send me straight back to Dantooine, too. Maybe **they** won't even want me. And I'll never be knighted._

Battle Meditation was the only thing special about her. Her dueling abilities were sharp, but not so spectacular that anyone recognized her for them. For the longest time, the Jedi had wondered if she was even Force-sensitive enough to continue her training. She had been a late-bloomer. Much of that was due to having begun her training late in her childhood. She was one of the few Jedi who remembered her parents, and vividly at that. Years she should have spent learning the ways of the Force had instead been spent hunting with her father, traveling from system to system.

She picked up the mug and headed out of the break room. _Maybe I can find my father again,_ she thought. _Though I don't especially care to see my mother._

Even that idea was quickly smothered in her self-pity. After having promised her father to make him proud, she would have done nothing but wasted all her time away at the Order. She couldn't bear to see his look of disappointment when she came crawling back.

She sniffed, holding back a tear, and trudged down the corridor toward Revan's quarters, passing her own. She stopped at the door. She was pretty sure this was the one. It wasn't far from hers. The door on the opposite side of hers looked more like it was for storage than for someone's living space.

"Sorry I didn't make you proud, father," she whispered. "And you, Master Sunrider."

She knocked on the door with her free hand, the other holding the mug. The door slid open of its own accord. She swallowed hard, and stepped through, the door sliding shut behind her at the will of the Jedi Knight within.

Revan was seated at a small desk, with datapads scattered across its surface. His mask was still on, even as he pored over a datapad.

"Sit down," he barked, not even looking up at her.

Shakily, she sat down in the chair across from him. She set the caffa mug down on the desk.

"I-I brought you some caffa," she said, her voice trembling. "It has sugar in it."

Revan finally looked up at her, exhaling a deep, frustrated breath that came out as static through his vocabulator. The mask bore into her like some ravenous demon about to eat her soul. She hated that mask. It had turned from a symbol of courage to one of disappointment. And the man she had met but days before was somewhere beneath it, feeling that same disappointment. She only wished she could see his face, yet at the same time, didn't want to.

"I-I'm sorry," Bastila said. "I don't...I don't know what happened."

"You panicked," he said.

Bastila nodded. "I'm sorry."

"You were supposed to make the _Mandalorians_ panic, not _us_."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Perhaps you should join them. They'd be happy to have you."

She hung her head, her lips trembling, her throat tight.

"Why did you panic?"

"I don't know."

"You do know. Tell me."

"I said I don't know!" she snapped.

The mask merely stared back at her coolly.

"Will you take off that _ridiculous_ mask and look at me like a _human being_?" she said. "Because if this is your way of...of punishing me, of _intimidating_ me, then I've got a memo for you. I _won't _let you."

"No," Revan said. "You'll let the Mandalorians do that."

Bastila shot up from her chair. "All right, fine. I see no apology will make amends. I told you I wasn't ready. But that doesn't matter to you. I might as well leave now, since that's what you want."

She turned to walk back out.

"Please stay," Revan called out.

Bastila stopped in her tracks. Slowly, she turned around to see that Revan had finally taken his mask off.

"I'm sorry," he said. "You're right." He ran a hand through his hair. The bags under his eyes made him look far older than he was. Weariness bled from his every movement. "You weren't ready. I should have supervised you. But instead I threw you in there alone. I'm sorry."

She sat back down.

"It wasn't my intent to reprimand you," Revan said. "I just...I'm very tired. We both are. I just wanted to know what happened."

Bastila's brow creased. "Why? Why would it matter now?"

"Because I need to know how to fix it."

She shook her head. "You don't understand. I don't think it's something you can fix."

"Humor me."

"All right. This is how Battle Meditation is supposed to work. You drain the enemy's strength and pour it into your own side. Your side's fears are, in turn, poured into the enemy."

Revan nodded.

"But with the Mandalorians...It's as if they have no fear. Nor any...hope, morale. I had nothing to use against them!"

"And what did you do to compensate?"

"I...I tried to boost just the Republic's morale on my own. And it worked for a bit, but..."

"But then you panicked."

She nodded, and hung her head. "I'm sorry. I knew better."

Revan heaved a sigh. "They do have fear."

She looked up quizzically.

"I think...I think we must find a way to strip them of their honor. They fear that more than anything."

Bastila snorted. "Honor? What honor could they possibly have after all their war crimes against civilians? They're brutes!"

"They have a very...different definition of honor than we do. They don't fear death. They fear a shameful defeat. But we're getting ahead of ourselves. We have a much larger problem to sort out first."

Bastila raised an eyebrow.

"I need to teach you to boost our morale without anything to draw on but yourself."

Bastila shook her head. "You don't understand. I tried that already. It's not enough."

"No, I think it is. I felt it from you. You were doing just fine until you were distracted." He leaned forward. "You were drawing on your own morale. You need to learn to do the same thing no matter what your own morale level is."

"But even if you find a way to teach me, there's no time..."

A thin smile curled on Revan's lips. "Oh, there's time. I'll make the time. But you're going to hate me for it."

**.:.**

The Mandalorian Triumph. That's what they were already calling it. Duros was theirs. Not even Mandalore would have thought, at the beginning of this war, that they would make it so far. And all this despite the Revanchist.

Cassus Fett smiled beneath his helmet. If this didn't make his father proud, he didn't know what would. He eagerly activated the comm channel, hoping at last to make contact with Mandalore's fleet. The fleet should have dealt with Malak by now.

He was eager to share the news of their victory. But more importantly, he knew he would need to wait for their arrival before pushing into Corellia. He needed to know how soon reinforcements would arrive. He didn't trust Revan. Revan always had something up his sleeve. He had proven that yet again with the gravity well generators. The Mandalorians had lost just over eighty ships to the explosions. Twenty-eight more were damaged. No matter. The people of Duros would more than compensate them for their losses. Already, the Mandalorians were plundering them for parts and supplies, and using their shipyards for repairs. Those who resisted became trophies of war. Cassus already had the head of one upstart hanging on the wall of his quarters. Right beside that of a Jedi who had lost to him in battle some months ago. The Jedi's lightsaber still hung from Cassus' belt. Yet another in his collection. He loved decapitating Jedi with their own weapons.

At last, the holoprojector lit up, displaying the golden helm of Mandalore. Cassus bowed deeply, his right hand clenched in a fist over his chest.

"Mandalore," he said. "We have taken Duros."

He waited for an answer, holding his breath. He didn't dare look up at his father's holoprojection, nor at the golden mask that hid his face. He hadn't seen his father's true face in many years, not since he was a boy. Nor had he called him _father _in all that time. Still, he was proud that one of his own blood had become Mandalore.

But that pride only went one way. His father had always been hard to please since he had taken up the mask. Because from that day forward, he was no longer a father. He was Mandalore, the leader of his people. And he made a point to treat his flesh and blood as any other Mandalorian. Contrary to the spoiled brats of Alderaanian nobility, there was no inheriting the mask of Mandalore, no inheriting the respect and honor his father held. He had had to earn it. Some thought otherwise, but he knew better. His father was a harsh taskmaster, harder on him than on anyone else. Cassus knew that in a way, this was because his father expected that much more from his own son.

Yet he never measured up in his father's eyes. But today...today he had done the impossible, and all without his father's help. While his father played tag with Malak all the way from Randon to the Inner Rim, he had done what no Mandalorian had ever done. He had conquered the first Core World of the Republic. And it would not be the last. Not if he could help it.

Still, Mandalore said nothing.

"We have won a great victory," Cassus said. "Revan has fled to Corellia."

"I will not call it a victory until Corellia is secured," Mandalore said at last. "Revan will yet retaliate."

It still wasn't enough for him. Did he require the Supreme Chancellor to surrender before he would call something a victory? Cassus slowly released a breath, and at last straightened to look at his father now that he had been acknowledged.

"Mandalore, we can move forward to Corellia as soon as you arrive."

"No. You cannot wait for reinforcements. We have been...delayed."

"Malak?"

"Elusive. We must silence our communications again. I will contact you when he has been subdued. Until then, you must press onward. Do not give Revan time to regather his strength."

Cassus bowed his head. "We have many repairs to make before we can advance, but it will be done, Mandalore."

The transmission was cut abruptly from the other end. Cassus straightened once more, and stared out the viewport at the globe that was Duros. This was not going as planned. He was used to adapting. Things could change rapidly, no matter how well-planned each attack was. And they always had to drastically alter their plans whenever Revan was involved. But with Malak on the loose...They could not afford for him to slip past their net and take Duros from behind them. This was risky.

Still, he trusted his father. He had not become Mandalore for nothing. More importantly, he trusted Revan—that he would be more than prepared when they advanced to Corellia. He turned his focus away from what he couldn't help—Malak—and toward what he could. And if he could help it, Revan's lightsaber would soon hang as a trophy from his own belt.

**.:.**

Bastila stumbled on yet another root in the mud. When she had landed on Corellia, she hadn't envisioned this. Trudging through mud for an hour through thick forests. Revan had told her to take a shuttle down to the planet's surface, and to have the pilot land at very specific coordinates. She had envisioned those coordinates would lead to a landing pad in Coronet or some other city. She was wrong. Given the region's unpredictably stormy weather of late, the pilot had been rather irate when she had told him to land in the mud in the middle of nowhere. At least it hadn't been raining. But it clearly had been the prior evening.

Now she was an hour out from where the shuttle had left her, and finally drawing near the second set of coordinates where Revan had told her to meet him. And she was a wreck, her boots and the hem of her robe covered in mud. Fortunately, she traveled light, with only her lightsaber, datapad, and a small backpack Revan had left for her in her quarters earlier that morning.

She looked down at her datapad once more. Her current position wasn't far from her destination. If she was right in reading the display, it was just down the hill. She looked up, peering through the mist and trees, straining to see any sign of Revan.

Nothing.

She trudged forward, down the gentle slope of the hill. Granted, the trek down was anything but gentle. Fallen logs and even more roots barred her passage. But she deftly picked her way through them nonetheless, snapping twigs and scattering frightened hares away.

Finally, the ground began to level, and the trees began to thin. They gave way to a large clearing. A steep cliff lined the opposite side, where a small waterfall shimmered down its face, depositing its water into a small, muddy pool. Rocks jutted out everywhere amid grass, pebbles, and mud.

And there he was, seated on one of those rocks. His eyes were closed, as if in meditation.

Bastila strode up to him, the mud making a sucking noise each time she lifted a boot to take another step. When she reached him, she knelt down before him—a formal, almost apologetic, greeting she felt she owed her Master. She bowed her head.

"Master," she said in greeting. She waited for a response for several moments.

At last, Revan opened his eyes. "You're late," he said.

Her head snapped up. "Late? I took the shuttle precisely when you told me to!"

He frowned slightly. "You should have been here much sooner."

"I came as quickly as I could."

"Then I am severely disappointed in your abilities," he said, unblinking.

Bastila snorted. "Yes, we've established that. And I believe we also established that you ask for the impossible."

"Hmm, I don't recall the latter. But regardless, I do believe we are about to establish that anyway. Get up."

She got up in a huff, ignoring the temptation to rub the sore spot on her knee where it had knelt on a stone.

Revan rose from his perch. "I see you've brought your lightsaber. I believe I specifically told you to only bring the backpack and datapad."

Bastila's hands went to her hips. "I think it goes without saying that a Jedi should always carry a lightsaber."

Revan stretched out his hand. "Hand it over."

"Excuse me?"

"Hand it over. You won't be needing it."

Grudgingly, she unclipped it from her belt and handed it to him, and watched as he clipped it to his.

"And your backpack. Hand that to me as well."

She obeyed, unslinging it from her shoulder.

"Come with me," Revan said.

He turned his back to her, and headed toward the cliff wall, picking his way among the rocks and boulders. Bastila silently followed, nearly slipping several times on the muddy grass. Finally, Revan halted in front of a cluster of rocks that lay against the cliff wall. He stood over a large crack, which opened into a small cavern that slanted downward into the cliff side. Bastila stood beside him.

Hesitantly, she peered into the gaping hole. The cloudy conditions did not help her make out anything very well, but she got the impression that it wasn't a particularly long drop.

"What is this?" she asked.

Revan chuckled—almost sadistically, she thought. "Your old Master was kind enough to provide me with your records," he said. "I found the most intriguing entry regarding your Apprentice trials on Dantooine."

Bastila's eyes widened. "My...my what?"

Revan smirked. "You had difficulty obtaining your lightsaber crystal your first try, am I right?"

"I-I..."

He held up a hand. "I understand. Everyone is afraid of something. But most Jedi don't require a search and rescue team when they panic."

Bastila nervously peered back down into the shadows of the cavern at her feet. She swore she could make out, just outside the circle of light, the beady reflection of..._eyes_.

She shook her head violently. "No. No."

"Oh yes. It was difficult to find a colony of kinrath on this planet, but fortunately some citizen with a fetish for exotic pets must have flushed one down the toilet at some point."

Bastila's lips quivered. "I-I'm not going down there!"

Revan's gaze never left the cavern entrance. "It is long past time you overcame your irrational fear."

"I-I wasn't afraid! I merely lost my weapon."

"And you panicked. They found you curled up on the ground covered in kinrath."

"Well what else was I supposed to do? Their bites are poisonous! I had an allergic reaction! I couldn't get out on my own! I didn't dare so much as move."

"Good. Then I trust you won't move when you go down there."

Her breathing quickened. She could feel her heart-rate increasing with each intake of air.

Revan at last shifted his gaze to meet her eyes. "Get in there," he said, his voice stony and uncompromising.

"Absolutely not," she said, her breath shallow.

The next thing she knew, Revan was roughly taking her by the arms and shoving her into the cavern. She hit the ground hard, face-first. Her breathing stopped. Slowly, she lifted her head, wide-eyed. Just beyond the circle of light, she could see those beady, lidless, curious eyes.

Shuffling. They were scurrying..._toward_ her? Away from her? She couldn't tell. Fear gripped her, and she tensed, still lying on her stomach, her palms flat on the ground. At last, she sucked in a sharp breath. Sweat trickled down her neck. Her breathing quickened.

A voice called out above her. "Just hold very still, Bastila. They won't bother you if you don't bother them."

Her voice shook with undisguised panic—and rage. "Y-you _schutta_." Her gaze remained fixed on the nearest set of beady, black eyes.

"Glad you're all right. Now, I want you to use your Battle Meditation."

But she didn't hear him. A scuffling sound. And the beady eyes came closer, right up to the edge of the light.

"Bastila? Did you hear me?"

Instinctively, she scurried to her hands and knees, defensively backing away. Her eyes squeezed shut, the Jedi Code cycling through her head in a vain attempt to shut the nightmare out.

"Bastila?"

She finally craned her head to look up behind her, at the cavern mouth framed by Revan's silhouette. "I need out," she said, her voice trembling. "I'm allergic. I need out right now."

"Of course. After you use your Battle Meditation."

"Please!" She was on her knees now, her head turning back and forth between the spidery forms of the kinrath and the cavern entrance.

Revan's voice was calm, almost soothing, as though he were speaking to a frightened child—which wasn't far too from the truth. "I want you to boost my morale first," he said. "Can you do that for me?"

She was like a cornered animal. "You're insane!" she hissed. "W-when Master Sunrider hears of this-"

"She approved of my idea."

A brief sense of betrayal washed over her, but it was quickly overruled by her panic.

"Please," she said, her voice subdued. "Let me out. If I get bit..."

"I have antivenom with me. Just boost my morale."

"I can't!" she shouted, tears stinging her eyes.

"Yes, you can. I know you have it within you."

She shook her head. "Please, don't make me do this."

"It's the only way, Bastila. You have to learn this."

"But I-I can't!" she sobbed.

"Corellia will fall if you don't."

That did it. Deep down, she knew he was right. She took a breath, and gingerly sat down, her shoulders shuddering. She squeezed her eyes shut, and tried to focus. Her heart rate began to slow as she blocked out the scuffling and...and _clicking._

_Fantastic,_ she thought. _Now they're making clicking noises_. She suppressed another shudder, and stretched out, feeling for Revan. She found him, along with all the life signatures of every last kinrath in the nest she'd fallen into. Bile rose in her throat, but she did her best to ignore her disgust with the creatures.

_There is no emotion, there is peace._

At last, she was calm. Still shaking from adrenaline, but calm.

"That's it, Bastila," Revan called out. "Relax. You can do this."

She took a deep breath, and began to reach deep within herself.

Something brushed against her cheek. Something..._hairy_.

She shot up, her hands wildly swiping at the thing on her face. "Get it off me!" she screamed. The spidery form flew against the cavern wall. Only, there was another on her shoulder. "Ugh!" She flung that one off, but it was no use. Another replaced it.

"Let me _out_!" she screamed. "Give me my lightsaber!"

Revan's only response was..._laughter_?

"You _schutta!_ Let me out _now_!"

"Calm down, sweetheart. Stop fighting them. You'll end up getting yourself bit."

It was a long three days for Bastila Shan.


	7. Chapter 7

****A/N: Sorry for the very late update. Been working overtime. Not to mention this was a tough chapter to write. Actually, any chapter with battle scenes is hard for me to write. But hopefully the fact that this chapter is double the usual length makes up for the delay?

**CHAPTER 7**

_Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit._

**.:.**

_Dear Revan,_

_Please forgive me for my late reply. First of all, I am certain that Bastila is not a "Mandalorian spy," as you call it. Her ability is simply untried. I would recommend building her confidence slowly. You are clearly pushing her far too quickly. Perhaps instead of having the entire outcome of the Republic's future depend on her, you could start with one battle—even one small part of a battle._

_Regards,_

_Nomi Sunrider_

_Grandmaster_

_P.S. There is no "return policy." If you ever wish to reach the rank of Master, then it is time you learned how to truly teach with patience and a gentle hand._

_P.P.S. I told you so._

**.:.**

Malak stood on the bridge of his ship, his eyes broodingly searching the nebula mists outside the viewport for answers. He hated waiting. It was not his purview. Action was. But he didn't dare act. Not yet. Not until the recce flights returned. Not until they knew more. Until then, they waited, hiding in a nebula, hoping that the Mandalorians didn't find them first.

Mandalore was out there, searching for the Republic fleet. Malak's haste to catch up to Cassus Fett had cost them all dearly. Mandalore had caught his fleet by surprise, and they had narrowly escaped to hyperspace. Now, the two opposing fleets played a dangerous game of cat and mouse. Only, Malak's fleet was the smaller of the two, already thinned by the prior conflict at Randon, and further thinned by Mandalore's surprise attack. In short, the Republic fleet was on the run. And there was nowhere he could run that was safe, for Mandalore seemed to anticipate every alternative hyperspace route to Corellia they tried. Every time Mandalore found them, they lost more ships. They could not afford to be found again. Not if they were to reinforce Revan's position. The last transmission they had received from Revan had sounded dire indeed. Duros had fallen.

A flash of white light lit the viewport, and then vanished, interrupting Malak from his thoughts.

He creased his brow in concern. "Admiral, how close was that?" he asked.

Admiral Karath shook his head. "Too close, General. Too close."

Malak's hand rubbed across his bald, tattooed head in frustration. Every bone in his body wanted to get the fleet out of the nebula and jump to hyperspace. But he also knew that they'd never be able to make that jump. Not with the Mandalorians out there, searching, ready to blast them if they made the wrong move.

"Sir," the ship's captain said. "One of the recce flights just landed."

Both Malak's and Karath's heads snapped around.

"Only one?" Karath asked. "Both should have arrived back by now."

The captain's face frowned slightly. "Just one, sir. Onasi."

"Get him in here."

"He's on his way."

It was mere minutes they had to wait, but those few minutes seemed like eternity to Malak. At last, the bridge doors opened, and a young pilot stepped through. He strode to the viewport with confidence, and snapped a salute.

"Lieutenant Carth Onasi reporting, sir."

Admiral Karath nodded brusquely at him. "At ease, son. We're all friends here. Just give us the scoop."

The young man immediately relaxed, his hands folding behind his back nonchalantly. "Sir, they appear to be using a spiral search pattern on the nebula."

"Yes, yes, we know," the admiral said. "They're almost on top of us. What about outside?"

"They've put gravity well generators by the hyperspace lane to Corellia, sir."

Admiral Karath cursed under his breath, shaking his head. "They're going to flush us out and force us to run away from Corellia."

Malak heaved a weary sigh. "What about the other hyperspace lanes, Lieutenant? Can we at least get out _somewhere_?"

The young man nodded. "Yes, sir. They're clear."

"At least we can run away," Malak surmised.

"Yeah, but the Mandos win if we do," Karath countered.

"But we can find another route."

Karath shook his head. "With all due respect, General, there's no time left. We're late enough as it is. If we try another route, they'll just beat us to Corellia."

"Sirs?" the young man interjected. Two pairs of eyes focused back onto him expectantly. "There's more. I kept radio silence but left my inbound comm channel open, like you asked. I received a transmission."

Karath's eyebrows shot up. "Well for heaven's sake, son! That should have been the first thing you told us!"

Onasi's face flushed ever so slightly in embarrassment. "Here you are, sir," he said, handing a chip over. "The recording is encrypted, but I'm pretty sure it's from Corellia. The transmission seemed to repeat itself."

Karath nodded thoughtfully, taking the chip. "Thank you, Lieutenant. That will be all."

The young man snapped a salute, and headed out. The admiral handed the chip to the comm officer.

_Please be good news,_ Malak silently prayed.

The comm officer at last decrypted the communique. "Sirs, it's from General Revan. It has a date and time. And it says to go to..."

"Where?" Karath said.

"Duros?"

"Duros?" Malak echoed. "Why Duros? It's taken."

Karath shook his head. "General Revan might be getting ready to take it back."

"But it will be all he can do to hold Corellia!"

"I know. But maybe he's got something up his sleeve we don't know about. When does it say we need to be there?"

"In nine hours, sir," the comm officer said.

Malak sighed. "If we show up there, and there's no Revan..."

"It's a risk, General. But you want to know the good news?"

"What?"

"The hyperspace lane to Duros is wide open." The admiral gave him a conspiratorial smirk.

Malak raised his eyebrows. "I assume you have an idea? Because we're not getting out of this nebula unless..."

"Unless we have a distraction. They think we'll have to make a run for it. I say we make it look just like that. As soon as they give chase to the decoy, we take the fleet to Duros behind their backs."

"Decoy?"

"Yes, sir. Just even one stealth fighter can go up to the farthest hyperspace lane away from us. As soon as he's there, we'll have him mix up his IFF code and transmit signals to make it look like our fleet."

Malak shook his head. "That's crazy. As soon as they close in, they'll know."

"But it'll buy us the time we need to get out of this nebula and make the jump. Besides, we'll want the pilot to jump himself before they close in. Lead them on a bantha chase."

Malak sighed. "Any pilot willing to volunteer for this mission has got to be out of his mind."

The admiral smiled. "I know just the kind of pilot we need, then."

"Oh really?"

"You just met him, sir."

**.:.**

Revan rubbed his unshaven beard for the third time during his holocom conversation. Frustration tainted his every movement.

"Em, I need you to get back in there."

The holoimage flickered, shaking its head. "Revan, if we send another task force, we'll lose it. It was all we could do to jump out."

"They set up gravity wells?"

"Yes, sir."

Revan rubbed his eyes with his fists, and sighed. "Malak needs more time. _I_ need more time."

Surik's image cocked an eyebrow. "Revan, is it you that needs more time, or her?"

Revan clucked his tongue. "Now, now. Is that a spark of jealousy I detect?"

The image of Jedi General rolled her eyes. "Please. We're both proper Jedi, even if _you_ don't always act like it. Though I think she could use a reminder of that."

"You think?"

"Oh, she definitely has a crush. Even if she hasn't figured it out herself yet. She just probably doesn't realize you'd just as soon flirt with a Gundark."

"Come on. I'm not that bad. Besides, she strikes me as too proper." _Not to mention she hates me right now_, he thought to himself.

"I'm just saying. You might want to cut it off at the pass. Before she starts doodling your name on her datapad."

"You would know."

Surik let out a huff, shaking her head. "Force, you are so in love with yourself."

Revan crossed his arms with a grin. "As long as I'm not the only one in love with me, then it's perfectly justified. I'm a nominee for _Galactic Magazine_'s handsomest bachelor of the year, you know."

"Hmph. Wonder how they'll pull that off. I mean, you always wear your mask in public. How would they know?"

"It's all in the imagination," Revan said smugly.

"Those ladies' imaginations must run pretty wild."

"All the way, I'm sure."

"Anyway, you changed the subject," Surik said, frowning. Her hands went on her hips. "She needs more time because...?"

"I don't care to argue that, _General_."

She shook her head. "With all due respect, _sir_, she'll do more harm than good. Buying her more time isn't going to change that."

"No, but she'll be rested. She needs rest."

"What do you mean she needs rest?"

"Never mind."

"Revan?"

"You're not going to let me off the hook, are you?"

"I think everyone deserves to know why you're about to send them to their deaths."

Revan's lips curved into a sarcastic grin. "There is no death, remember?"

"Hmph. Tell that to the men and women serving. Better yet, tell that to the Defense Ministry."

"Look, I've been working with her the last few days. I think she can do this. We _need_ her to do this. She just needs to rest."

"I'm scared to ask."

"Funny. So was she."

"Revan, I can't justify sending more ships to Duros. We'll lose them for nothing. We've harassed them as long as we can. They're coming here no matter what we do."

"How much longer do you think we have?"

"An hour at best. If you insist on using her, I'd suggest having her on standby."

Revan nodded. "All right. Is everything else is in place?"

"Yes, sir. Though once again I would like to state my reservations regarding my position in the fleet."

"Yes, yes. I know. I promise you'll get your ground campaign. As soon as we can gain some ground to fight over. You're not the only one who can't stand the Navy, you know. Unlike you, I _have _to command the Navy."

"Ah, the mantle of leadership. You poor dear." Her smile said otherwise.

He smiled back grimly. "As soon as Malak gets back, I'll get your feet on the ground. I promise."

"Thank you, sir. And don't forget to explain things to her. We wouldn't want her vote affecting the _Galactic Magazine_ results while she's still feeling delusional."

"Yes, of course," Revan said, chuckling. "Now if you'll pardon me, I need to wake her up."

With that, he cut the transmission, not being one for a formal goodbye. He rubbed his unshaven face again.

_So much depends on her_, he thought, his mind now fully turned to Bastila.

When he had asked her to join him, he hadn't thought she would make his predicament worse. Though, if he were honest with himself (which he painfully was at this moment), he would have to admit that his predicament would likely be only slightly better. He couldn't blame the girl.

_Girl,_ he thought wryly. _Not quite. Young woman, perhaps. A young woman I have no business instructing._

For a man so thoroughly opinionated, he felt hopelessly lost in sharing anything that would amount to "wisdom" with her. Nor had he ever considered taking a more age-appropriate Padawan as his student. He simply did not see himself as a teacher. Not yet.

_Strange how they all think I'm so wise, _he thought. That so many Jedi called him their honorary Master...It often disturbed him. Taking the initiative with his opinion hardly made him a wise Jedi Master. Of this, he was acutely aware, despite whatever the Jedi Council claimed. When he thought something was right, he followed it. Granted, he never exactly discouraged Padawans and Knights alike from calling him their Master. Perhaps it was because he didn't want to dampen their enthusiasm for the cause. Or perhaps the Jedi Council was right: Maybe he was an arrogant nerf herder after all.

He snickered to himself as he rose from his chair. _No wonder Master Sunrider foisted her on me. She's humbling me with a taste of my own medicine—a headstrong, arrogant, opinionated Padawan. Just like me._

But it was more than that, and he well knew what Nomi Sunrider was up to. His intentions while stepping on Coruscant had been to acquire an asset, not a student. It was the ability he wanted, not the person. He knew he was being cold and calculating, but it had to be done. It's what he had done to everyone in his life.

_Even Alek_, he thought. _I can't have friends anymore. Not if they're to be kept safe. And not if we're to win_.

He had learned that hard lesson early on, when his his best friend had been captured. Every nerve in his body had screamed to rescue his friend, but he knew if he did and failed there would be no symbol to stir the Jedi to arms. So he had sent another to do the task. Ever since then, he had more and more kept his friends at arm's length. They were assets, one and all. Now that he was a fleet commander, even more so. He couldn't afford sentiment. In this, his old Jedi Masters had been right. Any attachment was dangerous, and could be used against him as a pressure point in his position of leadership.

But Master Sunrider...She was unconventional. Worse, she was onto him, and she wasn't about to let him get away with it. By forcing him to take her as his Padawan, she was effectively ensuring that he treated her as a person rather than an object to be used to his ends. There was no getting around it. He would have to interact with her daily, and learn about her if he was to effectively teach her.

_Clever, Master,_ he thought. _Very clever. I only hope you know what you're doing, because I certainly don't._

He heaved a weary sight, and placed his mask on his face, covering his blood-shot eyes and bristly beard, before stepping away from his desk and out of his temporary quarters. He had decided for this battle to use one of the cruisers for his flagship rather than the _Ravager_. With the _Ravager_ now the only capital ship, he knew it would be the center of gravity for the upcoming battle. The Mandalorians would try to destroy it at all costs, so as to disrupt the coordination amongst the cruisers—not to mention to kill _him, _the center of gravity for what momentum and morale the Republic war effort had gained in the past few months. Worse yet was the secret weapon they were not yet aware of. He couldn't risk Bastila being on that ship anymore than himself. So it was that he had decided to spread the center of gravity as much as he could. And if the worst happened and the _Ravager_ were destroyed, each and every rear admiral and above knew their maneuvers. They would coordinate the old fashioned way, with comms, as inefficient as that was with so many ships.

The walk down the corridor was short. He reached his Padawan's door, tapping on it lightly.

No response.

He tapped again, this time more loudly.

Nothing.

He sighed. _Yet another reason for her to hate me_, he thought, before pressing the door controls. He quietly—at least as quietly as his boots allowed—stepped into her darkened quarters and knelt beside her bunk.

"Bastila, wake up," he said softly.

The lump in the center of the bunk made no move. Only a soft snore escaped the bundle of sheets.

"Bastila," he said, more loudly this time.

The bundle shifted.

Exasperated, he placed his gauntleted hand on what he thought to be the bundle's shoulder, and shook it roughly. "Bastila!"

A head emerged from the sheets, the face turned upwards, though with closed eyes. "Mmph," she said, and opened her eyes. He could see her pupils widen in the dark.

"Force!" she screamed, scrambling back in fright.

Revan let out an amused chuckle, and watched as she regained an awareness of her surroundings.

She took a steadying breath, as recognition of the masked figure in her room finally calmed her. "Will you take off that ridiculous mask? You scared me half to death!"

Revan chuckled again. "Does that mean we're on speaking terms again?"

She gave him a stony glare in reply.

"Well, then, I guess you'll have to make do with my unsightly mask. A deal's a deal."

He watched as her head fell back down on the pillow with a groan, her eyes closing. He gently laid a hand on her shoulder once more in pity. "Come on, it's time."

She sat up gingerly, her head bowed with weariness—and, he noted to himself, a burden which she was far too young to bear.

_And yet, so was I. I wasn't much older than her when this all started. And is anyone ever truly old enough to bear these burdens?_

He turned on the lamp switch next to her bunk. Her eyes instantly winced in the light. "I'm sorry I couldn't give you more rest," he said.

She nodded quietly, rubbing her arms. Revan couldn't help but notice the indentation of bite marks yet to heal. Not to mention the various needle marks where he had injected antivenom. Her cheeks were still red from her allergic reaction, despite the antivenom, and once again he wondered if he had made a mistake.

He shrugged the uncertainty and guilt aside. "Come along. Let's get you some breakfast." He glanced at the chrono by the lamp. "Make that dinner. I have a room reserved for us."

She swung her legs over the side of the bed. She was wearing only sweat pants and a Navy T-shirt, the Republic emblem emblazoned on the front. Her hair, still bound in pigtails, stood up in wispy trails around her face. He guessed she clearly didn't care what she looked like at this point, and so he didn't press the matter.

_No, _he thought, _She's far too exhausted for proper decorum. _He extended his gauntleted hand for her to take. She merely stared at it a moment, and just as he was about to lower his hand, she finally took it. He gently pulled her up. Her legs wobbled a bit as she stood. Graciously, he pulled her close to his armored body to steady her. She seemed ready to protest at first, but complied, leaning on him for support, nearly half asleep. Side by side, they walked out, with her using him as a crutch the entire way down the corridor.

**.:.**

Bastila gingerly sipped her tea, feeling the weariness temporarily leave her as the warm liquid slid down her throat. She still wasn't interested in speaking to him. No, she simply watched him icily from her perch on her floor pillow. He was hovering over a holoprojection in the center of the room, but several feet away from her. It looked to be the Corellia system, but Revan kept zooming in and out of a section here or there, or turning the angle of the map, or switching maps altogether to a different system—Duros, she thought, but it was hard to tell. Bastila had to turn her gaze somewhere else so as not to get dizzy.

Her gaze turned to the floor, where her half-eaten tray of food lay, courtesy of a protocol droid bringing it minutes before. But her heart wasn't into eating what remained. Her sleep had left her more exhausted than refreshed. It had been uneasy. Partly due to her anxiety for the battle that lay ahead, but also due to her dreams.

Though she had slept deeply, she had dreamed vividly. Dreamed of her father. A distant, blurry memory, but one she clung to nevertheless. And her mind had vividly filled in the details of whatever was missing in her memory. She was disturbed, for she didn't often dream of him. Deep down, she knew the subject of her dreams hadn't been a coincidence. She had dwelt much on him lately. As Master Sunrider had taught her, it was the only way to give morale when there was nowhere else from which to draw it. It had to be drawn from within.

Her Master's instruction had affronted the young Padawan when she was first told it. To actually seek to feel morale within one's own self...Morale seemed so different from peace. Morale made her feel alive, like her heart was soaring. It ran contrary to everything she had been taught from her prior list of Jedi Masters. To actually try to feel that way, to reach back into one's memory and remember...But it was her only option, both in her training on Coruscant, and now. And Master Sunrider was never one to agree with her more traditional Masters.

Still, the memory always left her feeling hollow. Her father coming home, her running up to him to hug his knees—that always made her feel warm and happy. Safe. Invincible. But it was what followed that made her feel pain, like someone had carved out her own heart. The arguing between him and mother, being ripped away from her father and sent off with some stranger, never to see him again... She always tried to block out those memories during Battle Meditation. But after days of reliving the more fond memories of her life while trapped in a kinrath nest, her dreams had been haunted with what followed.

_Why would anyone ever want to have an attachment? _she thought. _How could it ever be worth the inevitable pain?_

She took another sip of tea, trying to swallow down the sorrow she felt upon awaking. But it was no use. _I've done it all over again, haven't I? _she thought. _With Master Sunrider. And I've lost that, too, now._

There was no denying it. She had grown attached. And once again, she had been torn away. Unlike her original family, she could at least see her old Master again. But it wouldn't be the same, and she knew it. First the loss of her father, and now the loss of a mother that technically wasn't hers to begin with. Only this time, she hadn't had time to grieve the loss. But then again, Jedi weren't supposed to grieve.

_And yet here I am. Grieving._

She took another sip of her tea, and this time locked the sorrow away, just as she had learned to do with her father all those years ago. And just like that, her focus shifted to what lay ahead. She turned into the perfect, model Jedi once more, cold and unfeeling.

_No, not cold_, she thought. _At peace._

She took a deep breath, one that accepted her circumstances for what they were, and turned back to eating what was left of her meal—more for the nutrition it offered than out of hunger. She knew the battle could possibly last hours. Revan had warned her of battles that had lasted days for him. Without a doubt, she knew she would be taxed regardless of how long it lasted. She was exhausted. True to his word, Revan had not let her out of that kinrath nest until she had controlled her fear. Now she was paying the price of being a slow learner. She only hoped she had fully learned her lesson, for a battle-hardened Mandalorian fleet was a far cry from a nest full of kinrath, as loathsome as those were.

Finishing the last bite of whatever it was the mess had conjured up and loosely labeled as "food," she shook off her anxiety and turned her focus back to Revan. He was now speaking into his comm, his voice low so that she couldn't make out all he said. But she could catch the gist of it by his tone of voice. As much as he tried to hide it, his voice was strained, urgency dripping from every word. It was almost time.

As if he could read her mind, he shut off his commlink and turned to her. Though she could not see his face, she held his gaze nonetheless. Icily, at that. She wasn't ready to forgive him just yet for throwing her into a kinrath nest.

"We just received a report that the Mandalorians made the jump ten minutes ago. We have maybe five minutes at most."

Her icy gaze melted, and shifted to stare back down at her now empty dinner tray. She felt him, rather than saw him, walk over to her and kneel beside her. A gauntleted hand came to rest on her shoulder. Lightly, hesitantly, as if uncertain whether the gesture was welcomed.

"You'll do fine," he said quietly.

She nodded.

"They're just like kinrath."

She nodded again.

"Only less hairy."

She couldn't help but break into a smile, a laugh escaping her lips. She cocked her head to look at his mask where his eyes would be. "Not by much," she said, shaking her head. "You're trying very hard to get me to speak to you again, aren't you?" She folded her arms. "Well, I'm afraid it won't work."

His hand left her shoulder in response, leaving it cold. He rose from his knees, but instead of leaving the room as she had thought he would do, he pulled out another floor pillow, and sat down beside her.

"Don't you have to be at the bridge or something?" Bastila asked curtly, reaffirming that they weren't on speaking terms just yet.

"No," he said, his gaze facing the holoprojection. "I'll be right here the entire time."

"Well, you shouldn't. It's distracting. All that heavy breathing through that stupid mask you insist on wearing."

He chuckled softly. "You know very well the terms for my mask to come off."

Bastila sighed in exasperation.

"Besides," Revan said. "I...I should have done this before. The first time." His head turned to look at her.

Bastila swallowed hard, at a loss. _Is he actually...__**apologizing**__?_

No. That wasn't good enough. She rubbed the bite marks on her arms, reminding herself why she wasn't speaking to him. Her head whipped away to stare at the holoprojection in icy silence.

But Revan was undaunted. "I won't apologize for the kinrath. But I am sorry that such a lesson was needed in the first place. If I had started you off more slowly..."

_Kriff_, she thought. _Kriff, kriff, __**kriff**__!_ _How can he be so nice after three days of being a calloused schutta? _She could feel her resistance crumble.

"Come what may," Revan continued, "no matter how this battle turns out, you've done better than anyone can expect in so short a time."

This was too much for her to take in. "You..._manipulative_ schutta."

She could feel him crack a smile under his mask. "Does that mean we have a truce?"

She heaved an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes. "Fine."

"You don't sound convinced."

"Will you just take that abominable mask off already?"

He obliged, placing his mask down beside him and lowering his hood, though she still wouldn't look at him. "I knew it," he said smugly.

"Knew what?" Bastila said, rolling her eyes again.

"You just can't stand not seeing my handsome face."

Her head involuntarily whipped back to look at him. "Oh for Force's sake, you are so inappropria-" Her harsh words died on her mouth, to be replaced with shock. An unshaven beard met her face, along with bloodshot eyes. No smug smirk could disguise the lack of sleep. "Force! You look like a homeless man!"

The smirk died on his lips. "Oh, come on. I thought women liked beards? It's only a few days old, anyway."

"Haven't you had any sleep at all?"

To that, he didn't reply. His tired gaze was like a dagger to her conscience. While she had slept, he had worked unceasingly. She looked back to the holoprojection in shame.

She didn't have long to wallow in self-pity. The display lit up, indicating a fleet of ships dropping out of hyperspace. Her breath caught in her throat.

"This is it," she said softly, hoarsely.

A brief moment of silence passed between them as they both stared at the two groups of dots moving towards each other.

"Happy birthday, by the way," Revan said softly, his eyes not leaving the holoprojection.

Bastila laughed in disbelief, likewise still staring at the holoprojection. "You chose _now_ to tell me that?"

"I might not get a chance to later."

She knew what he meant, even as the two fleets on the projection drew into firing range of each other. _This might be my last birthday_, she thought. Not that it mattered. The fact that Revan had so much as wished her a happy one went against what was considered proper Jedi conduct. But at this point, she didn't care. She would scold him later, if they lived. For now, she had her duty.

"You don't have your lightsaber," Revan said, though oddly not as a reprimand. She felt a cold object be placed onto her lap. Looking down, she saw a single-bladed hilt. She gingerly laid her hand on it, feeling the grooves in the grip.

"Here," Revan said. "Have my spare. If they board the ship..."

Revan did not have to finish his sentence. Bastila quietly nodded.

"Please put your focus on the immediate vicinity to the _Ravager_," he said. "Don't spread yourself too thin. I'll let you know when to change focus. And only worry about boosting the Republic's morale for now. Leave the Mandalorians be."

She nodded again.

"Ready?"

"Yes, Master," she said. She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes, shutting out the view of the projected red and blue dots colliding. Her breathing slowed, deepening further. She gradually felt herself slipping into a world only she saw.

"Master?" she whispered, her own voice sounding strangely far away.

"Yes?"

"Thank you for staying."

"Of course."

"Just try not to breath so loudly."

"Well I'm not _that_ into you."

"Good, because you need a breath mint."

He chuckled softly, and their banter died. She sank deeper, shutting out everything around her, focusing on the ship, the crew, and finally the life signs outside. Their cruiser, and those around it, hung back at the rear of the Republic fleet, behind a small moon, held in reserve. Sinking even deepr, she at last could see the entire fleet on the other side of the moon. The _Ravager_ was still hanging back from the front lines, even as the Republic opened fire on the Mandalorian fleet, which had dropped amid gravity wells designed to keep them far from Corellia and its neighboring planets. But they had now pushed past the trap, heading directly into the Republic fleet and beyond, directly toward the _Ravager_.

Bastila summoned the familiar memory of hugging her father's legs, and along with it the feelings of morale. She poured those feelings into the Republic, covering the area around the Ravager as Revan had ordered. Only, something seemed off about the _Ravager_ itself. Like there wasn't anyone on board...She shrugged the oddity off. There wasn't time for questions. She needed to focus.

The Mandalorians were tearing into the Republic feet, forcing a path any way they could to the Ravager. Bastila focused everything she had on the Republic fighters, willing them to perfect formations, willing them to counter the Basilisks that had launched from their mother ships. It was working. One by one, they were destroying the Basilisks with perfect precision, and then pushing past them to their mother ships, deftly avoiding the cannon fire. The cruisers followed behind their fighters, bringing their cannons into firing range of the Mandalorian ships.

But for all the cruisers' maneuverability, the Mandalorian ships had the advantage in massive firepower The cruisers could only do so much to avoid it, and their shields could not hold out long, even as the fighters tried to disable the Mandalorian cannons. Bastila flinched inside when a Republic cruiser exploded, her confidence wavering. But she faintly felt a gloved hand on her arm. Like that hand was far removed from her skin, or like her skin was somehow numbed. Like a thick jacket was between her and it, though she knew that wasn't the case.

"Kinrath," a distant voice whispered. "Ignore them."

She nodded, feeling like she was outside her body—yet buried deep within it at the same time—with her neck responding on remote control. Returning her focus to the battle, she continued pouring morale into the Republic, desperately clinging to her old memory for strength. And it worked. The Mandalorians could not punch through to the _Ravager_, and had to fall back.

It went on for hours this way. Time and time again, the Mandalorians maneuvered their ships in an attempt to circumvent the Republic's defenses and reach the _Ravager, _shifting the center of gravity. Revan was quick to point out to her to change her focus to the new location, which often times wandered away from the _Ravager_ toward an advantageous opening in the Republic's formation. While she found Revan's interruptions annoyingly distracting, she knew they were a necessary evil. And they paid off. Time and time again, the Republic repelled the Mandalorian offense, outmaneuvering the bulky Mandalorian ships with their lightweight cruisers. Despite each victory, however, the Republic only won at a cost. Each time, they lost more fighters and cruisers. A few of the Mandalorian ships were destroyed as retribution, but it was not enough to counter their ferocity, and Bastila struggled to keep the Republic's morale boosted in the face of such undaunted determination.

Every so often, she felt Revan's hand return to her arm, silently encouraging her, but she was growing tired. She didn't know how much longer she could focus. She felt strained, stretched thin, even though she was only covering one small area. Her weariness was beginning to demonstrate itself within the Republic fleet. Gradually, their formations became less and less precise, until finally the Mandalorians found an opening, and pushed.

Panic threatened to overwhelm her, even as her mind's eye saw a formation of Mandalorian ships close in on the _Ravager_. Desperately, she fought to regain her focus.

That's when she dimly felt a hand gently shake her arm.

"Take a break," a distant voice said.

Her brow creased in confusion. Basilisks were now deployed, punching through the hull of the capital ship. She frantically turned her focus toward the ship's crew, searching for anyone that needed morale. Her confusion deepened.

_Where is the crew?_

She felt the foreign hand shake her arm again.

"Bastila, stop."

"Stop distracting me!" she snapped.

"That's an order."

She peeled herself away from the battle, and surfaced from her meditation. She hated this part. Her awareness of her own body returned in full, and it felt as though her limbs were slightly numb. Her eyelids fluttered opened, the light of the holoprojector stinging her eyes, making her wince. An angry scowl crossed her face. She turned her head to look at Revan, glaring at him.

"I can do this," she said shakily, rubbing the feeling back into her arms.

He nodded. "I know."

"Then why...?"

"Soon. Just relax, and watch. Trust me."

"But why?" She wasn't about to trust him for anything after spending three days in a kinrath nest.

"Did you notice that one Basilisk? The big shiny one?"

"Yes?"

"That's Cassus Fett's."

"The Mandalorian Field Marshal?"

"Yes."

"But why-"

"He's out to kill me. In person. Mandalorian honor, and all that nonsense."

"But you're not on b-...Oh."

An amused smirk crossed his face. "Exactly."

**.:.**

Cassus Fett stepped off his Basilisk droid, the taste of triumph on his tongue. His men were already ahead of him, firing at the defense droids in the hangar. He unslung his rifle, and strode toward the hangar entrance, taking aim at whatever dared to cross his path. It wasn't long before the hangar was secure. The troops broke off to secure the remainder of the ship. Cassus took with him five men. It was mere minutes later that they had forged a path to the elevator. The path had been oddly full of droids instead of sentients. Though that had been somewhat expected. Intel had informed them that this latest line of capital ships required fewer sentient beings to man, and the Republic had been favoring battle droids over marines in an effort to put more feet on the ground.

He patiently rode the elevator to the bridge deck, already savoring the confrontation he knew was to come. He had been waiting for this moment, ever since he had heard of the Revanchist. No Jedi had yet been a match for him. No, Mandalorians were too canny to be outmaneuvered by a mystical "Force." Their armor and gadgets more than made up for any disadvantage. His latest trophy—a Jedi's lightsaber—still hung from his belt. Revan's lightsaber would soon replace it. He smiled under his helmet at the thought. No, Revan was not invincible. Revan was only a man, and men could be killed.

The elevator doors opened, and Cassus and his men strode out. Strangely, they reached the bridge doors unopposed.

_Perhaps Revan wants this fight as much as I,_ he thought.

The bridge doors opened, and he stepped through, flanked by his warriors. The bridge was devoid of personnel.

_Evacuated. And I thought you had honor, Revan._

His eye caught glimpse of the captain's chair that faced the viewport—and the hooded figure that sat on it.

Cassus smiled. _You have honor after all. Shame that I don't._

He motioned for his warriors to advance on the hooded figure. No, it was not a duel Cassus Fett craved. He would leave such old fashioned displays of honor to the likes of his father. He wasn't about to risk his life in a foolish duel. Besides, no one ever had to know that Revan had been outnumbered. And the warriors with him wouldn't be alive to tell when it was over. He would make sure of it, for he would not risk losing face in front of his people. He would never command men into battle again if they knew the truth.

Cautiously, they made their way to the lone chair. At last, his rifle aimed at Revan's head, Cassus spoke.

"Well met, Revan. It is a shame I have to kill you dishonorably."

Cassus nodded sharply, signaling to open fire. And open fire they did, blaster smoke scenting the air. At last, Cassus raised a hand, signaling the warriors to cease fire. Then he placed his hand on the chair to turn it. That lightsaber would be his at last. And it would be the last thing his warriors ever saw before they fell. He smirked to himself.

As the chair turned, the hooded head fell back, and the smirk died on Cassus' face.

Buttons for eyes. Cloth for skin. A stitched smile. A straw-stuffed chest.

And a thermal detonator.

**.:.**

Revan and Bastila watched the holoprojection, which no longer hosted a display of the battle, but a view of the _Ravager_'s bridge, courtesy of a security camera.

"I don't understand," Bastila said, shaking her head. "How is it we're coordinating the cruisers if the _Ravager_'s bridge isn't even manned?"

"Admiral Dodonna and Em are logged in remotely to its computers."

"I see. But who's that in the chair?"

"Wait and see."

They watched as Cassus turned the chair around. Bastila couldn't help but smile when she saw the stuffed face of a dummy peer at the camera. Suddenly Cassus fell back, but not quickly enough. The room exploded in light and smoke.

Revan leaned forward intently, trying in vain to see past the smoke. "Please be dead," he muttered.

At last, enough of the smoke cleared. Dead bodies littered the bridge floor. But one got up. Revan cursed under his breath, and watched as the figure fired limped to the bridge computer and fired his blaster. The image on the holoprojection went blank. Grimly, Revan switched back to the view of the battle.

His comm crackled. "Sir," a woman's voice said, one which Bastila instantly recognized as General Surik's. "We just lost our connection to the _Ravager_ computers."

"Understood," Revan replied. "Have the marines...?"

"They've boarded, sir. Cassus isn't getting off that easy."

"Send in the reserves. It's time to close the trap."

"Yes, sir!"

Bastila could feel their own ship accelerate. "What are you planning?" she asked.

"Cassus took a gamble boarding the _Ravager_, one I knew he couldn't pass up. Without him, they're unbalanced. We only need to push harder."

"Surely he has other generals to take command."

"Indeed he does. And they already have. But we can also be assured that Cassus won't have the ship destroyed while he's still on it."

"Can we say the same for his generals?"

Revan smirked. "Cassus won't tell them he's failed. Not until he's safely away. For all they know, he's fighting an honorable duel with me. They won't disturb that."

"Still. The Ravager as bait? It's the best ship we have! You're gambling everything on this! We can't even coordinate the cruisers now."

"That's where you come in. Now get back at it."

She shook her head. As crazy as his plan was, she had to admit he was a genius. Granted, she would never admit that aloud. His ego was big enough as it was. She closed her eyes, and sank back into her meditation, feeling reinvigorated by what she had witnessed. Perhaps they could win this yet.

Their own ship, along with the rest of the reserves, had rounded the moon and were now coming up alongside the _Ravager_ in its defense. The Mandalorian generals had not yet caught on that Cassus had been caught in a trap, and were still focusing their fire on the surrounding Republic cruisers. Bastila took advantage of their complacency to reinforce the reserves that were now exchanging fire with the hulking Mandalorian ships. Their fleet already thinned, they began to lose more ships to the reserves.

But one ship would not give way, and instead began to circumvent the less coordinated cruisers. As much as Bastila tried to will perfection into their movements, she could not replace the efficiency of a computer sending orders at the speed of light. Nor could she directly order anyone. She could only suggest, not command. The Mandalorian ship cut through the confused cruisers, and once again made for the _Ravager_.

Soon, she saw why.

Revan's comm interrupted her efforts. "Sir," Surik's voice crackled. "An escape pod just jettisoned from the _Ravager_. The Mandalorians are trying to pick it up."

Revan hissed. "I see that." Bastila could hear him pause, as if calculating his next move.

"Sir? It's out of firing range of our cruisers. Do we intercept?"

"Negative. Defend the _Ravager_. And make sure the marines secure it on the inside. I'm not about to let Cassus blow up another flagship of mine."

Bastila could see in her mind's eye the escape pod being pulled in by a tractor beam. Then suddenly, the Mandalorian ship began to pull back to a more advantageous location, even as several Republic cruisers fired into its hull.

"Push into them," she heard Revan shout. "Don't let them think anywhere in this system is safe."

Bastila saw the Republic begin to move forward, the cruisers flying ahead of the _Ravager_. Her weary mind poured what was left of her energy into the Republic's offense.

It worked. At last, the Mandalorian fleet broke, fleeing in the opposite direction, their attempt at killing Revan having failed at far too high of a cost.

Revan's voice pierced through her meditation. "Em, disengage. Let them jump."

"Sir?"

"It's almost time," was all he said.

"Sir, I wouldn't count on him."

"This is our one chance to take back what's ours. It won't come again."

"Yes, sir."

As the Mandalorian fleet jumped, Bastila opened her eyes.

"What do you mean, it's almost time?" she asked.

"I mean we're jumping after them."

"But we barely held our ground!"

"I'm well aware."

Bastila stood up, her legs wobbly. Undeterred by her imbalance, she placed her hands on her hips crossly. "No, I don't think you are. With all due respect, _Master_, I can't give you more than I already have."

Revan stood up himself, and, seeing her legs shake, placed a hand on her arm to steady her. "I know," he said. "And I require no more from you this day."

Bastila's jaw hung open at that statement. "W-what do you mean?"

"I mean your part is over. And I'm afraid the outcome of this battle is out of our control."

She looked searchingly into his eyes. "I don't understand. We already won."

"No, not really. We only held our ground. And we lost more ships than they did. They'll be back to steamroll us as soon as they recover."

"But what-"

"Wait and see. Have I let you down yet?"

Her lips curled into a smile. "Well..."

"I mean today?"

"No, Master."

"Trust me."

She nodded.

Revan spoke into his comm. "Em, have the fleet make the jump."

"Yes, sir! And sir?"

"Yes?"

"You're absolutely crazy."

"The Force be with us."

"I sure hope so, sir."

With that, Revan walked over to the holoprojection, and switched the map to Duros. Bastila could feel the ship jump to hyperspace, which made her lose her balance, her legs still feeling weak and somewhat numb. Revan reached out to steady her, and helped her sit back down.

"Revan, are you sure I can't-?"

"Yes. You're exhausted. I don't think you can help much in such a state. And please don't take that as an insult. You've done amazingly today."

Bastila looked back at him, stunned. She looked away again, shaking her head. "I only undid my own mess."

"No, it was my mess. We likely would have lost Duros anyway. Don't ever let me beat you up over my mistakes."

They sat awhile in silence, waiting. At last, the ship dropped from hyperspace. Bastila could instantly feel the ship lurch, like some tidal force was pulling it against its will.

"Gravity wells," Revan muttered.

Bastila nodded, watching the dots on the holoprojection. The Republic suddenly found the tables turned, the Mandalorians now having them pinned at their drop point. She watched as the dots collided. Their own ship shook with cannon fire.

Minutes passed. "Where are you?" Revan whispered, and Bastila could tell it was not to her.

Then finally, the moment Revan had been waiting for arrived. Bastila's eyes widened as an entirely new set of dots appeared from nowhere on the other side of the system.

"Yes!" Revan crowed, laughing.

"I don't-"

"Alek!" Revan scrambled for his commlink, cycling the channels in an effort to find the right one. "Alek? Do you read me?"

Static. "Alek? Do you copy?"

More static, and finally, a crackle. "Well, well. If it isn't the hero of the Republic. I must be in the wrong system. I meant to respond to a distress call. You don't _look_ distressed."

"Get over here, you big oaf!"

"All right. How much will you pay me?"

"Actually, you _owe_ me fifty credits."

"Really? What for?"

"You'll see. Now get in here!"

"Okay, okay! I'm coming! Just remember who rescued who this time. For when the press asks."

"Of course. And...good to see you, old friend."

"Yeah, you too. Now hang tight. I've got some hulls to crack."

Revan's grin couldn't have been any wider. "See?" he said, turning to Bastila.

"Yes, I see perfectly well." She crossed her arms. "Quite a gamble."

"War is all about calculated risks. Believe me, I calculated the timing of this to _death_."

She sighed. "You know, I could still take some of the risk out of all this."

"You're too tired."

"So are they."

"What are you implying?"

"You said the Mandalorians fear dishonor."

"Yes, but-"

"They've been very dishonored today."

Revan nodded. "And you think you can use that to drive their retreat faster?"

"If it could save Republic lives, then it's worth a try."

He nodded again. "All right."

She closed her eyes, and sank back into her meditation. The Republic's morale was already plenty high from Malak's arrival. She couldn't affect it much more, and now she understood why Revan had felt her efforts unnecessary. Gingerly, she stretched out, feeling the Mandalorians emotional state. They were already contemplating a retreat, but they would not follow through until they had at least tried to counter the new threat. Their sense of honor would not let them do otherwise.

_I must strip them of their honor_, she thought, contemplating how this could be done.

She reached deep within, back to the moment that Cassus Fett had discovered the dummy Revan. She thought of the humiliation he must have felt, and drew on it. At last, she funneled those feelings into the Mandalorians, subtly.

_You should have seen this coming_, she thought, projecting the emotion that came with that musing. _None of you can outwit your opponent. There is no honor in staying._

She reached further into her own memories, of what it was like to fail a lesson from one of her Jedi Masters, to be scolded for something when she had tried so hard to please them. _Oh, you will be scolded, when Mandalore hears of this_.

At last, their spirits broke. They saw the inevitable humiliation, and fled, scrambling to jump to hyperspace. The Republic fleet pulled back, allowing them their shameful escape.

"Yes!" Revan said excitedly. "Good girl!"

She smiled, and was about to resurface from her meditation, when she realized that some of the Mandalorian fleet had not yet jumped, but had fled to orbit Duros. Their cannons were charging. Her breath hitched in her throat. She had heard of the Mandalorians' brutality, of the cruel things they would do to entire planets. But she had never seen it up close, let alone from the vantage point of Battle Meditation—a vantage point unlike any other, where she could feel the emotions of all lifeforms of an entire system. And just like that, she could feel them—those Duros citizens who did not live in the orbital cities—snuffed out, their last emotions being terror.

Her eyes snapped open, tears clouding her vision. "Revan," she whispered.

Revan had no answer for her. They were too far away to stop them, the Republic having assumed the Mandalorians intended to escape rather than attack.

"How could they be so..." But her question was cut short.

Revan's comm crackled to life. "Hail, Revan."

Revan furiously gripped his commlink. "Cassus, you vindictive son of a-"

"Come, come. It's only fair. You left a similar parting gift for me when _you_ lost Duros. I thought I'd return the favor. Until we meet again."

At that, static filled the comm. Revan stared down at it for the longest time. "All those people..." he murmured. "Force if I don't want to kill him myself."

He threw the commlink at the holoprojector, making Bastila flinch with worry. Then he got up, storming out of the room. Bastila, too afraid to follow him in such a dark state, stayed put, burying her face in her knees, and hugging them for dear life.

The days of stress finally caught up with her. Millions of lives—it was the straw that broke the bantha's back. The perfect, model Jedi facade fell away. Her body wracked with sobs.

But it wasn't long before she felt Revan return—a much calmer Revan, his Jedi training having finally cooled his wrath—and sit beside her wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

Her first reaction was to flinch, but even as she made to lift her head, his soothing voice stopped her.

"I'm sorry," he said.

That was all it took. She gave in, and buried her face into his chest, letting him rock her back and forth.

"It was all for nothing," she sobbed, gripping his robes in her fists. "We took back Duros for nothing."

For once, his own spirit broken, Revan had no reply.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Apologies once again for the long wait. Alas, such is the double-edged sword of writing longer chapters. As it was, I had intended two more scenes to be added to this chapter, since they fit closely together, but I decided to split the chapter instead. It was getting much too lengthy and taking too much time to get it out.

Since it's an election year (at least in the United States), why not have a vote? If you would like shorter chapters rather than longer ones, let me know. The advantage of shorter chapters is that I am obviously able to update more frequently. The disadvantage, however, is that they might break in odd places! For example, I couldn't imagine having to break up chapter 7. It would have ruined the suspense!

So I leave the decision to you. Submit your ballot now! Aye for shorter chapters, nay for longer.

And do leave a review, of course. :)

**CHAPTER 8**

_Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit._

**.:.**

_Dear Master Sunrider,_

_You'll be pleased to know that your star Padawan has had her first success—and a stunning one, at that. Thank you for all your advice. Granted, it turns out I didn't have the need to use much of it. But it was appreciated nonetheless._

_Regards,_

_Revan_

_P.S. I trust that since there is no"return policy," that our original agreement still stands? I will have her for the long term, won't I? Even if I must teach with patience and a gentle hand, her help in the war effort is appreciated._

_P.P.S. Can't help but rub it in?_

**.:.**

The crowd was wild, cheering and screaming and waving their arms. Revan waved back, of course. Though his heart wasn't in it. He hated crowds. How ironic it was that he always found himself speaking in front of them. He knew just how fickle people could be. One misstep, and this very same crowd would turn into a crazed mob and lynch him.

_I'm sure the Duros want to do exactly that_, he thought wryly, doing his best to imitate a royal wave, like the royalty of Alderaan might give.

Only, he knew well that his wry thought wasn't the truth. A large percentage of the population of Duros lived in the orbital cities rather than on the surface, and they had been beyond grateful to have been liberated from the oppression of the Mandalorians. Still, the deaths of those on the surface stung. The Mandalorians hadn't just fired cannons. Within mere minutes before jumping to hyperspace, they had fired nuclear warheads, chemical bombs, and anything else that could fathomably make the surface uninhabitable. And they had only needed to bomb a few key cities to have the most effect. While many other cities and suburban areas had come out unscathed, those closest to the targets could not remain on the surface for much longer. The planetary winds would quickly carry the radiation and gaseous poisons around the globe. The Republic was still evacuating the poor souls, the orbital cities and the few still habitable places on the surface struggling to make room for the sudden increase in population. In short, much of the planet itself—which had already struggled to contain its civilization's pollution, and had resorted to leaving only miners and production workers to live on the surface—was an uninhabitable waste.

_And it's my fault_, Revan thought. _I goaded the Mandalorians. They retaliated. I don't deserve a medal._

Granted, he also felt that not even his worst enemies (and that included Cassus Fett) deserved what he was suffering to get the medal. Politicians. Everywhere. And not just any politicians. The Supreme Chancellor himself had flown to Corellia, deigning to descend from his tower on Coruscant to personally bequeath the medallion around Revan's neck.

His supreme highness (or so Revan thought him) had finally finished his windy speech, eking out every last second of media coverage he could, and was now extending his hand to Revan. Revan steeled himself, feeling ready to vomit, and shook it. The Chancellor, in turn, just wouldn't let go of his hand, and continued to fiercely shake it in an iron grip.

_That's it, your worship. Milk that HoloNet news time with me._

Finally, the Chancellor released his hand. Revan resisted the urge to wipe it clean on his Jedi robes, gloved though his hand was. Shaking hands with politicians always made him feel slimy. And to think that each time he did so actually helped their ratings! Didn't that make him an accomplice to their sinister schemes for reelection? The irony of it was, he likely would never be a fleet commander without the Supreme Chancellor's support, and the Supreme Chancellor would not have been able to supplant his predecessor without the Republic's heavy losses and the gamble of backing Revan for use as his campaign talking point. Oh yes, that slimy, shrewd, self-centered man used Revan to climb to the top. And now that Revan had proven his strategies successful, he wasn't about to stop leeching off the young Jedi.

_If only I didn't need you_, Revan thought, waving side-by-side with his political benefactor. One word from the most powerful man in the galaxy, and the fleet would no longer be his to command. That wasn't such a bad prospect—Revan was tired of war already—but he had to finish what he started. The Jedi had rallied to _him_, not to the Supreme Chancellor. Revan wasn't sure what would happen if he were taken out of the equation for political purposes. Would those Jedi who had followed him continue the fight? Deep down, he knew they would lose their morale, to say the least. Worse yet, the Republic itself would lose heart, now that it had tasted success over the past few months. He shuddered to think of the Republic returning to its old, futile methods of fighting the Mandalorians—which was what had led to the Republic's begging for the aid of the Jedi in the first place.

At last, the ceremony ended. Revan couldn't help but roll his eyes under his mask. _Finally_. But even as he turned away from the balcony overlooking the Coronet city square and began to walk inside the building, stuffing the medallion into his robe pocket, that weaselly voice called out to him.

"Well, Revan!"

He turned around slowly to face his "benefactor."

"You're not leaving just yet, are you?"

_Did you want me to pose with you for more holorecordings? _Revan thought wryly. He would never say such a thought aloud, of course, and instead held his tongue.

"No, Chancellor," Revan said curtly, struggling to be polite. "My flagship still has a few days' worth of repairs."

"Ah, yes. The Mandalorians boarded it. I imagine they weren't very polite guests during their brief visit."

"No, that they were not." Revan noted a woman had sidled alongside the Chancellor. The Senator from Corellia. Her earlier speech had been rousing, but something in it lacked conviction to Revan. More credit was due to her speechwriter than to herself for any positive effect her words had had.

"Well," the Chancellor continued, "since you are obliged to stay on Coronet, perhaps I could entertain you while you wait."

"Yes," the Corellian Senator interjected, "Corellia would love to thank you for your great service." Her plastered face—one that had seen far too many nip tucks—stretched in a thin smile. Her face looked as though it would crack open with the strain.

Revan shook his head. "Your words are too kind," he said tactfully. "I am hardly a hero compared to those who have died or been maimed in service. Unfortunately, I am afraid that I still must attend to many matters during my stay. I hope you don't mind if I decline your generous offer."

"Of course, of course," the Chancellor said. "Still, perhaps we can discuss some of those matters together over some wine. Senator Merias here has a lovely estate just outside Coronet. And wine, don't you, Senator? From Alderaan?"

"Actually," she corrected, her voice teetering on condescending, "Tarisian ale."

"Ah, I must have been thinking of your predecessor, then."

"Yes. My ale has been in my family for generations. My great-great grandfather brought the bottles from Taris himself and laid them down in the family cellar. I do believe such a victory as this warrants breaking a bottle open. Don't you agree, General Revan?"

Revan felt like screaming. In fact, he made a mental note to do just that as soon as he got back to his quarters on his ship. In the meantime, he placated himself with grinding his teeth and reciting the Jedi Code—albeit vainly, for such mantras didn't quite bring him peace whenever he was in the thick of politicians. Thankfully, he had made that clever vow about not removing his mask until after the Mandalorians were defeated...

"Yes," he replied, straining not to grit his teeth together. "This would be such an occasion, and I do hope you enjoy your ale. However, I am afraid I myself am not very good at conducting business and imbibing simultaneously. Not to mention my vow concerning my mask. Perhaps we can simply discuss matters here?"

Senator Merias inclined her head. "Of course," she said silkily. "Forgive me. I'd nearly forgotten your vow."

Revan couldn't help but notice that she had ignored his slight concerning mixing drinking and business. "What matters did you care to discuss?"

The Chancellor stepped in. "Several of us in the Senate are concerned regarding the escaped Mandalorians."

Revan nodded. "Yes, I understand. And I assure you that the Republic fleet is in hot pursuit. The Ord Mantell fleet will intercept any retreat to Onderon. But you must understand we still need to have a fleet here at Corellia to discourage any further attempts at taking the Core Worlds, at least until we can resecure the hyperspace lanes."

"Of course, of course," Merias said. "But you must also understand: You are asking for a part of the fleet to withdraw from a crucial point of territory—a part of the fleet that technically is not under your command."

Revan sucked in a sharp breath in exasperation. "Senator, I have no interest in controlling more of the Republic fleet than I already do. This operation is being fully coordinated with the Defense Ministry. I promise I have not overstepped my bounds, nor do I ever intend to."

The Chancellor shook his head. "No, General, we are not implying that you have. But this move by the Defense Ministry does not have the approval of many Senators."

"How so?"

He sighed. "Removing the protection of the hyperspace lanes that go around Taris...What if the Mandalorians push out from Taris and take them? Those routes are the only means we have of circumventing their blockade of the Hydian Way."

Revan nodded. "I understand your concern. The decision was not made lightly. But consider also that by leaving those lanes protected, we are effectively holding a siege against Taris. History proves time and time again that sieges are an ineffective use of resources. And they won't be easily starved out so close to Mandalorian space. They'll resupply whether we're there or not."

"But what if they push out?"

"They won't. Not yet. Not with Mandalore and Cassus Fett so far out. The bulk of their reserves are still at Onderon. With their fleet so divided, they wouldn't have any support to push out from Taris. The odds are in our favor. If we're quick, we can conquer one fleet at a time before they meet up. Now, if you'll excuse me, I really must be going."

Revan turned and walked away. He had had enough. Explaining military strategy to politicians always frustrated him.

"Revan," the Chancellor called out. "I wasn't asking."

He stopped in his tracks, and turned around slowly, his suspicion growing.

The Chancellor shook his head, his brow knit almost in regret. Almost.

Revan took a deep breath to steady himself. "You're ordering me to...?"

"No," the Chancellor said. "I'm not ordering you to do anything. I've already ordered it myself."

Revan shook his head in disbelief. "But Admiral Yun should already be in position-"

"No, Revan. He's not. He's already returned to Corsin to blockade Taris."

Revan just stood there, still processing the information in stunned silence.

"I'm sorry, my friend. It is far too great a risk to take. The Senate committee on galactic security is in full agreement. Too many worlds would suffer if...I just thought to tell you myself, before you heard it from the Defense Ministry."

Revan struggled to find words. "But how...Don't you understand the losses we've suffered? We need their ships! We need to close the net!"

"I'm sorry. But knowing the genius you are, I know you'll find a way."

The Chancellor refused to make eye contact with him, looking somewhat aside, yet not completely looking away. No, he was too professional in his bearing to completely show any discomfort.

"Well, then," Revan said. "I really must be going."

He gave the Chancellor a curt nod, and likewise nodded at Senator Merias. A slight smile was plastered on her thin lips. It chilled him somewhat, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. That smile wasn't kind. It was given out of victory rather than genuine friendliness. He turned and walked away.

_I hate politicians,_ he thought. _And somehow I have to protect the Republic when they themselves are sabotaging me._

He came to the end of the corridor, where a grand stairway led him down. More politicians littered the stairs. They stood aside briefly, giving nods here and there. He ignored them.

_Maybe the Jedi Council was right, _he thought wryly. _Maybe there is a deeper threat to the Republic—the Republic itself._

He shook his head in a vain attempt to dislodge his growing cynicism. At last, he came to the bottom of the stairs into a vast room. Protocol droids were waiting on the politicians and media. As soon as they all noticed him, the press jumped on him like ravenous kath hounds. He pushed passed them, ignoring their questions. He normally would try to wave for the sake of the public, to boost morale. Today, however, he didn't care what the holocams saw of him.

He rushed down a corridor that led outside, a few press members trailing behind him, still asking questions.

"No comment," Revan huffed.

They acted as though they never heard him. He was about to turn around and make sure they heard, when he caught sight of various aides and a few guards down the corridor, all surrounding a Duro. The Duro's red eyes looked sadder than usual (their large eyes always looked sad to him), but they lit up in recognition as soon as they caught sight of Revan.

The Duro spoke a few words to one of the guards, who stepped forward. "Sir, please come this way."

_Great,_ Revan thought. _Now a politician is kidnapping me. _He took a glance behind him. _Oh well. Better him than the press._

Revan nodded at the guard, and fell into step beside the Duro, the guards and aides surrounding them, and those behind them pushing the press back.

"I suppose I owe you thanks," Revan said, as they stepped out of the corridor and into the sunlight.

The Duro shook his head. "No, General. It is _I _who owes _you _thanks. My people owe you everything."

"Are you Senator Stazi?" Revan asked.

The Duro nodded. "Yes, I am. Would you honor me by allowing me to transport you to your shuttle?"

Revan nodded, albeit warily. "Of course. The honor would be mine."

An array of speeders were parked along the curb. Revan followed the Senator inside the middle one, sitting down on the cushioned seat. An aide shut the door for them. They waited in awkward silence as the driver started up the speeder, and pulled it into traffic.

Revan waited for the Senator to speak, expecting him to ask a favor. But he said nothing, and merely stared out the window.

_This is different_, Revan thought after several minutes had passed by. _A politician with nothing to say. How refreshing._

Then he noticed the pinkish scars on the Duro's green hands. _Very recent._

And that's when he realized that the Senator hadn't been on Coruscant when the Mandalorians had conquered his home world. A wave of guilt crashed into him.

_They should never have taken that planet. If only I had been smarter. Faster. Gambled less. Played it safe. Something. Anything._

"I'm sorry for your losses," Revan said at last.

Senator Stazi finally shifted his gaze from the speeder window to Revan, shaking his head. "No, you have nothing for which to apologize. My people owe you everything. _I_ owe you everything."

Revan shook his head in disbelief.

The Senator laid his scarred hand on his arm. "They would still be torturing my family if you hadn't saved us. The other Senators...on the security committee...they don't understand..." He looked down at the speeder floor. "They don't understand the brutality. Not like you and I. They think this is a game. They take advantage for themselves. They..." He trailed off, his red eyes closing, blinking out a stream of tears that had formed.

For once, Revan didn't quite know what to say.

The Duro shook his head. "They killed so many of my people. My friends. My son..."

Revan let out a shaky breath. "I'm so sorry."

"No!" The Duro's head snapped up to look at Revan again. "I told you before...You saved us."

"No, no I didn't. The Republic did."

The Duro violently shook his head. "_You_ are the Republic. _You_ stand for what it stands for. That is why they rally to you, and not to any other."

The Duro reached into his robe pocket, and placed something into Revan's gloved hand. Revan looked down at the object. A toy. A small plush toy, with three buttons for eyes. He couldn't identify the species of animal it was supposed to imitate, but it was certainly meant to comfort a small child. His breath caught in his throat.

"My son's," the Duro said.

Revan shook his head almost violently. "No, no I couldn't!"

"Keep it. Remember. Fight for us."

"But it's your son's!"

The Duro closed his eyes, his head bowed. "Yes. My son's. Yours now. All I have is yours. I would not be here to even have this if it weren't for you. Please, honor my son. Fight for those sons of the Republic that still live."

Revan knew then that there was no point in arguing. Certainly not with a Duro who held such a high view of honor. He gazed down at the little plush animal. It meant far more to him than the cold piece of metal the Chancellor had given him earlier—a medallion that meant nothing to the Chancellor, that cost him nothing. But this...This small toy cost the Duro everything to give.

"You have my word, Senator," Revan said, his gaze still directed at the stuffed toy. "As long as I breath, I will fight for the Republic's freedom."

The Duro nodded. "And I will fight for you in the Senate."

The speeder finally came to a full stop. Revan gingerly placed the toy in his robe pocket, where his medal was kept. He made to step out as soon as the aide opened the door.

"General," the Duro called out. Revan looked into the speeder at the Senator. "Be careful of the Senate. And not just the Chancellor. The Senator from Corellia especially."

Revan nodded. "She is on the security committee?"

"She chairs it. Be very careful. She will not suffer anyone to get in her way. Not even the Chancellor. Not even you."

"Thank you for the warning."

"Farewell, Revanchist."

"Farewell."

Revan turned away, walking toward the military hangar that hosted an array of shuttles. A few men in uniform snapped salutes, but he ignored them, with so much on his mind. He made his way to his shuttle, where a guard stood at the ramp, likewise saluting him.

_Well, maybe not all politicians are scum,_ he thought numbly.

He sat down in the passenger bay and buckled himself in. The engines roared to life as the pilot began to take off. Revan reached into his pocket again, feeling for the plush toy, and pulled it out. His thumbs rubbed its stomach softly as he stared down at it.

_Just one isn't, _he thought. _One out of a million_.

And that one gave him hope that there might be more.

**.:.**

Revan never had the chance to make his way to his quarters and let out the scream he'd been holding back. The moment he stepped aboard the _Ravager _in orbit above the planet, his life descended into chaos.

And that chaos came with two brown pig-tails.

"Where have you been?" Bastila stood in the ship hangar, her hands on her hips.

Revan took the last step off the shuttle ramp, strutting past her like she was just another politician or member of the press.

"You-you went to Coronet without me?" She fell into step beside him, clearly not about to let him shrug her off.

He didn't answer, but merely walked toward the hangar exit, and through the wide corridor that delved into the bowels of the ship. Droids and crew were everywhere, conducting repairs on all that the Mandalorians had broken in their short stay.

"Revan, I can't stay another moment on this ship. Not with that-that bald, arrogant, uncouth-"

Revan rolled his eyes behind his mask as he walked down the corridor. "I already told you, Padawan Shan. I don't want the press to catch wind of you. To the men and women on this ship, you're nothing more than my personal assistant. To the media, you don't exist."

"You're being absolutely paranoid! What next? Are you going to confine me to my quarters?"

"I'm beginning to consider it. And aren't you supposed to address me as 'Master'?"

"Pardon me, _Master_. Quite frankly, I'm sick of the 'personal assistant' charade, and I'm sick of pouring your caffa for you like some protocol droid. All I'm asking for is some fresh air. I don't see how I could possibly be in any danger by-"

"Politicians."

"What?"

"Nevermind. Please just...It's for your own safety. The longer we can keep the Mandalorians in the dark about you-"

"Yes, I'm aware. But the least you can do is not leave me behind to be sexually harassed by that bald..._nerf herder!_"

Revan grinned. "Nerf herder? That's an original word. But really. What's the problem? I thought you enjoyed being sexually harassed." He sneaked a sideways glance, and was rewarded with the flustered blush he'd expected to see.

They came to the elevator. Revan pressed the button to open it. "I see," he said. "So you only like it when _I _sexually harass you?"

She rolled her eyes, and followed him into the car as soon as the doors opened. Revan pressed the button for the bridge.

"I want you to deal with him," she said as the elevator began its ascent.

"And what does her royal highness want me to specifically do?"

"Royal high- I am not royalty!"

"Then quit acting like it."

She crossed her arms. "I am not- Forget it. I want my lightsaber back. You tell Malak that if he doesn't-"

Revan broke into a fit of laughter. "Your lightsaber?"

"Yes! My lightsaber! A Jedi's weapon, without which I am defenseless!"

"Then what's that on your belt?"

"This," she said, unclipping the cylindrical object and shoving it in his face, "is _not_ my lightsaber." She pressed the object's button. A torrent of handkerchiefs came out.

Revan chuckled. "Ah. Another victim claimed by Alek's prank saber." Her scowl stole the levity of the situation away. "I'll see what I can do," he said, raising his hands to placate her.

The elevator door opened. The stepped out, Revan striding down the short corridor to the bridge doors, Bastila trailing behind him, her fury not yet spent.

"Don't you have to be off somewhere studying?" Revan asked, no longer amused.

"Studying what exactly, Master? As usual, you've abandoned my training in favor of your own personal pursuits, such as award ceremonies and dinner parties."

"You want a medal, sweetheart?" He reached into his robe pocket, and pulled out the medallion, shoving it into her hands. "Here. Have fun."

She fumbled with the medallion, and shoved it back into his hand. "I don't want a medal! I want you to take my training seriously! I want to pass my trials!"

Ignoring her, Revan pocked the medallion and punched the bridge door controls. They opened with a swoosh. He stepped through, making his way toward the viewport, and ignoring the snap of salutes. "At ease," he said, almost habitually.

Bastila, still undeterred, had caught up to him again. He continued to ignore her.

"Em!" Revan called out.

Surik was already walking towards them. "Sorry, sir, we're in the middle of a test."

"I can see that," Revan said. "How long until this ship is space worthy?"

"We still have at least two days until-"

"No, we need to leave _now_. Admiral Yun was recalled."

She sucked in a sharp breath of air between her teeth. "What do you mean, _recalled_?"

"Later. We need to take as much of this fleet as we can, and go after Cassus."

Em shook her head, "Sir, if Admiral Yun isn't already hunting them, they could be anywhere."

"No, they'll be at their strongest fallback points. If we leave now, we might just stop them from falling back to Onderon."

"We've got too many repairs, sir. Though we could just leave the _Ravager _behind."

"Not going to happen. We're thin on capital ships as it is. What if we can repair along the way? Can we at least jump to hyperspace?"

Surik sighed. "We're finishing repairs on the hyperdrive in three hours. We'd probably have only sixty percent shields. The cannons should be fine. We can seal off decks with hull breaches. It's the rest of the fleet. We'd be leaving thirty percent behind."

"What if we take the Corellian Defense Force fleet with us?"

One of her eyebrows arched up. "But they're not technically ours..."

"Get permission. We'll trade our damaged ships for their undamaged ones. Most should finish repairs within a few days. The Mandalorians aren't likely to return before then, if they even manage to circle past us."

Em nodded.

"Three hours, then?" Revan asked.

"Yes, sir," Em said. "She'll jump in three hours."

Revan nodded. "Have all available ships jump to Manaan. Three hours. Where's Alek?"

"He just went back to his own ship."

He heard Bastila mutter a prayer of thanks under her breath.

"Comm him for me. Tell him to jump ahead of us and begin the search."

He turned away, and walked back to the bridge doors, Bastila still trailing behind him.

"What about my lightsaber?" she hissed.

"I'm sure it's around. Alek likes to hide them for his victims to find."

"Wonderful friend you have."

"The best."

He stepped through the bridge doors, gently guiding her by the crook of her back. Oh how he wanted to retreat to his quarters to let out that scream.

"By the way," Bastila said, her voice suddenly sweet. "I received the most interesting message today from Master Sunrider."

"Oh?"

They stepped into the elevator.

"Yes. She was most curious to learn how exactly you managed to train me in time for the Mandalorians' arrival here."

_Kriff!_ Revan thought.

Bastila's hands were now on her hips again. "Which is interesting, because you told me that she approved of your training methods."

Revan swallowed hard.

"You didn't tell her you were going to throw me into a kinrath nest, did you?"

Revan met her with silence, and turned away to stare at the elevator doors, counting backwards from one hundred.

"Well, don't worry, Master. I'll be glad to tell her all about your training methods in my reply."

_No way out. Must scream. _Revan let out a deep breath. Thankfully, the elevator doors parted. He stepped out.

"Well," he called out behind him, "go right ahead. It won't change anything."

Predictably, he could hear her stomp up behind him. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm sure your Master will scold me for my unorthodox training methods. But don't think that you'll escape being my Padawan. Because no one, not even you, can deny the results my methods produced."

She was speechless. In fact, he could no longer hear her steps behind him. He stopped, and turned around.

"I'll tell you what," Revan said. "You write back whatever comes to mind. But when you do, I want you to consider something."

Bastila let out a sigh, rolling her eyes. "And what is that?"

"Did that training exercise bring you closer to your trials, or draw you further away?"

She furrowed her brow, averting her eyes to the floor.

"You don't have to tell me that answer. Tell it to your Master."

She let out a heavy sigh.

"Bastila," he said.

She looked back up at him expectantly.

"I can't promise that your training under me won't be difficult. But I can promise that you'll be more than ready for your trials when the time comes."

She bit her lip, nodding, averting her eyes once again to the floor. She clearly wasn't about to admit he was right, however. Not that it bothered him. He _knew_ he was right. In fact, he also knew there was something in this situation he needed to set right—for both of them.

"You want off the ship?"

Her head snapped up. "What?"

"We have three hours. You want off?"

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why?"

"Trust me." He almost shot her a wink, but remembered his mask was still on. "I'll meet you in the hangar in fifteen minutes."

Ignoring the stunned look on her face, he turned and began to walk away. But it wasn't to his quarters. No, he had one last stop to make before he could let out that scream. He made it to the medical bay, and stepped inside. Most of the cots were empty, as most of the severely wounded had already been transferred to the planet below for long-term treatment. But one cot in the corner was still occupied.

Revan stepped toward the bedside of the occupant—a burn victim, wrapped in kolto-soaked bandages all across his upper body. One of the decks had caught fire. The poor soul had been caught in the blast. Even with regular visits to the kolto tank and state-of-the-art skin grafts, he likely wouldn't be fit for service again due to the severity of his burns. At least the man would never have to see another battle. He would be transferred to the planet below before the ship jumped. The fact that he was still here only meant that his injuries were too severe to risk moving him any sooner. But he had finally stabilized. The med bay would soon be empty.

Revan reached into his pocket, and quietly laid the medallion atop the sedated man's blanket. He stirred from his sleep, his eyes fluttering open and focusing in recognition.

"Sir," he rasped beneath his bandaged face.

Revan swallowed the lump in his throat. "You have served with honor," he whispered. "Go home in peace."

The man's eyes fluttered closed. Revan turned away, grateful his mask hid the tears forming in his eyes. A few minutes later, he finally reached his quarters. He closed the door behind him, tearing his mask from his face as he did so. Finally, he buried his face in a pillow, and let out a muffled, anguished scream.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Happy Easter, everybody! :)

And for those concerned that I'm updating so slowly because I might have run out of ideas, let me assure you that is not the case. I have the entire thing plotted out in a giant stack of index cards. An index card per scene. Following Blake Snyder's _Save the Cat!_ format, just for fun and experimentation. The point is, running out of ideas won't happen. It just takes time to write it all out, is all. Never fear! If anything, I may have to start trimming scenes out, since it's taking so long to so much as reach the story's midpoint.

Do read and review! I could certainly use the encouragement to keep attacking that stack of index cards, one scene at a time.

P.S. Hey, guess what I noticed! That troll that was leaving spam reviews is gone! Hurray! (I hope I haven't spoken too soon!) The troll must've gotten another hobby. Whew!

**CHAPTER 9**

_Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit._

Bastila crossed her arms. "I don't understand why we're here," she said, raising her voice to be heard over the crowded line for the snack bar.

"Fun," Revan said.

"Fun?"

"Yes, fun." He said nothing else to clarify his statement.

Bastila rolled her eyes. "And how exactly is some stupid sport game supposed to be enjoyable? Let alone appropriate for a Jedi."

Revan whirled around in his place in line, grabbing her by the shoulders. "_Limmie_ isn't just a game. It is _life_. It embodies everything a Jedi aspires to."

Bastila might have laughed at the overly serious expression on his face, if she weren't feeling so flustered. As it was, she was embittered that she wasn't using her short shore leave to take a relaxing walk through Coronet. It seemed everyone had had shore leave but her, and now that Revan had finally relented in letting her off the ship, she wasn't about to squander her short time on _limmie_ of all things.

She rolled her eyes. "Please! As if some stupid sport no one ever heard of could possibly imbue the values of the Jedi upon the observer."

He shook her by the shoulders. "Good night, woman! You've never heard of limmie? Did you grow up in a monastery or something?"

Every bone in her body wanted to wipe that stupid smile off his face. Instead, she ignored his joke—one made at _her_ expense. "If I haven't heard of it, it's because it is of absolutely no value."

He released her shoulders, giving them a quick pat. "Trust me. You'll understand after you've watched a game."

He turned back around to face the snack bar. The line had moved forward a few paces, and so they stepped forward to close the gap between them and the person ahead.

"You know, Bastila," Revan said, craning his head slightly so she could hear from behind him. "I really think you're going to learn some invaluable lessons from tonight."

"Invaluable as in worthless?"

"Invaluable as in so valuable it cannot be priced. For example, one lesson you must learn is how to blow off some steam once in a while. Otherwise you'll end up all grumpy like Master Vrook."

"Master Vrook isn't _grumpy_! He's serious. And you should be, as well."

Their turn finally came up at the snack bar. "You want anything? Popcorn? Cotton candy? Soda? My treat."

"Why yes, I'd just love to pump my bloodstream full of sugar and give myself diabetes."

"Cotton candy it is, then!" He rattled off his own order, and handed the snack bar worker a credit stick.

The teen behind the counter hurried himself to shovel popcorn into two bags. Then he began dumping item after item of so-called "food" on the counter for Revan to pick up, culminating in his handing him his credit stick back.

Revan, in turn, began handing off items to Bastila to hold. Her cotton candy. A soda..._Her _soda, since Revan had one in his hand as well. Popcorn. She was barely juggling it all. Revan wasn't doing much better. He was clumsily balancing another popcorn bag and some smelly sausage food she couldn't identify.

_Corellians_, she thought derisively, rolling her eyes. They always did invent the smelliest junk food. Not cultured at all. Not like Coruscant.

She followed Revan out of line, struggling to keep up as he weaved through the crowd. She nearly bumped into several people, the food in her arms precariously close to being dropped. Finally, they made it out into the open stadium, just two anonymous Jedi slowly making their way down the steps towards their seats. And were their seats along the isle? _No_. She had to pick her way down a row, saying her many pardons as she stepped past the people already seated. Several times she crushed someone's foot. She was sure her cotton candy brushed a Gamorrean's snotty face.

At last, they made it to their seats without anyone stabbing them—which was a legitimate concern with the Gamorreans. Even better, there weren't any people seated near them. Which meant that not only could they hear themselves talk, but that they wouldn't to listen to the Gamorreans snorting and squealing. Bastila sat down with an exasperated huff, popcorn spilling onto her lap. They both settled themselves, working on putting drinks in their cup holders.

"I'm not holding your snacks for you," Bastila stated.

"That's fine," Revan said. "But you're only holding your own anyway."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, I didn't want any of it."

He gave her a weary look, shaking his head slightly with a soft sigh. She instantly regretted her comment, and averted her eyes. She could already feel the awkward silence creeping up on them. Why did it always end up this way? They could sometimes have moments of near camaraderie. Then those moments would be replaced with this.

She decided to enjoy the silence while it lasted. It would only be a matter of minutes before Revan broke it with some inappropriate joke at her expense. Her eyes scanned the empty field below. But they didn't linger. Movement on the large stadium screen caught her eye. She gazed up at it. A series magazine covers flashed across, advertising their availability for instant datapad download. One in particular caught her eye.

_Galactic Magazine. Handsomest bachelor of the year._

It wasn't the title itself that made her roll her eyes. It was the picture on the cover. Revan. With his Jedi hood and Mandalorian mask. She prayed he wouldn't notice.

"Yes!"

Her prayers went unanswered.

"Look!" He pointed giddily at the screen. "Alek so owes me fifty credits. And Em." He pulled out a datapad from his pocket. "I'm buying it right now."

Bastila rolled her eyes again, letting out a soft sigh. He was impossible. And vain. And he was going to rub it in all evening. No, for days.

He shoved his datapad into her hand—at least, the one that wasn't balancing her popcorn and holding her cotton candy in a death grip. "See? Read this."

She let out another sigh, and decided it was best to humor him. Her thumb scrolled through the text. "First place. Revan. Voted man of mystery...And...other inappropriate things...Blah blah blah...Second place...Ven Sun. Is that some politician?"

"Actor."

"Third place...Alek Squinta-something. Oh! Malak. Something about his tattoos...Blah blah..."

She shook her head, and handed back his datapad. He merely pocketed it, smiling smugly at her.

She raised an eyebrow. "What?" she huffed.

His grin grew ridiculously wide. "Nothing. Just...thank you for your vote."

"Excuse me?" She could feel the blood rush to her cheeks. "What makes you think I voted for you?"

He leaned on the shared armrest between them, a lopsided smirk his only answer.

Her grip tightened on her cotton candy. "Don't be ridiculous. I don't waste my time reading such rubbish."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Rubbish?"

"For Force's sake! You're wearing a mask in your photo! How could anyone honestly vote for someone whose face they've never seen?"

"Imagination," he growled, wiggling his eyebrows.

She turned her head to face the field. "Well, it's still rubbish," she said. As far as she was concerned, that was the end of that.

But it wasn't the end for him. She could feel him leaning into her seat, his breath brushing across her ear.

"I still think you voted for me."

She shoved a popcorn kernel into her mouth, attempting to ignore him.

"And I think you're jealous."

She snorted, swallowing her popcorn. But she kept her gaze fixed on the empty field, still ignoring him.

"All those women voting for me..."

She snickered. "Please. You probably logged onto their HoloNet site and voted for yourself a million times."

He sat back in his seat. "Oh, that's low."

She turned her head towards him and smiled sweetly. She'd finally gotten him with a good jab. It was a fun game they played—at least, it was fun whenever she could come up with a good retort. Usually she ended up tongue-tied and thoroughly flustered, which wasn't particularly fun. Though he was always quite pleased with himself to exasperate her.

"Besides," she said softly. "I can't help but notice that your real name isn't listed. Even Malak's is."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, you're real name can't be 'Revan,' can it? And that certainly can't be the name on the credit stick you used to buy tickets and snacks, otherwise the press would already be here snapping holographs of you."

He nodded slowly. "A very astute observation."

It was her turn to lean towards him. "What is your _real_ name, anyway?" Her eyes narrowed, a triumphant smirk on her lips.

He leaned forward, inches from her face, meeting her challenge. "Not telling you," he said.

"Is it really _that_ embarrassing?"

"Still not telling you."

"Oh, but you're making my point for me," she said sweetly. "The man voted as handsomest bachelor isn't really _you_. It's some made up person that doesn't really exist."

"And I will gladly cede you that point. But I'm still not telling you my real name."

Her eyes narrowed as she searched his, almost willing him to tell her. He merely met her eyes with an unblinking gaze—one which betrayed nothing, and masked everything. Even without wearing his mask, he was still hiding his true self.

"Who are you really?" she muttered.

He inhaled a deep breath. "Maybe someday you'll find out," he said, and leaned back in his seat.

She did likewise, but still kept her gaze fixed on him, watching as he chewed into that stinking sausage..._thing_.

"How did you get your alias, anyway?" she asked at last.

He swallowed his half-chewed bite, washing it down with a sip from his soda. "A journalist coined it. I wouldn't give him my real name. And I kept my hood up to hide my face as much as I could. Didn't want the Jedi Council to find out what I was doing. Not yet, anyway. Not until I knew more Jedi agreed with me."

"But Malak knows your name?"

"He's a good friend. Keeps my secrets."

"But you call him by his real name still?"

"Old habit. He doesn't necessarily prefer one name over the other. His alias was actually a necessity. He had a warrant for his arrest at one point. Had to go into hiding."

"Not a very clever alias, then."

"No, not really. Though he does like it."

She nodded. "Yes, I see. But you don't like your real name at all?"

"I like my privacy."

She knit her brow. For some reason, that disappointed her. Malak could know his name. The entire Jedi Order could know his name. But _she_ couldn't. That told her exactly how she was regarded. Despite all his assurances of getting along, of supposedly enjoying her company, of even offering to remove his mask for her, he was keeping her at arm's length.

"Well," she said, masking her disappointment with a smile, "it's not like I can't figure out your name on my own. All I have to do is search through the records on Coruscant, or ask a Jedi Master."

He snorted. "Good luck. My record's been expunged."

Her eyebrows shot up. "What?"

He merely shrugged his shoulders.

"But...But they only do that when you're...exiled. They didn't..."

"No. They didn't have to. They've let me know I'm not welcome. Certainly not without an apology. Which I won't give." He snorted, shaking his head. "Your Master Sunrider is probably the only Jedi Council member still holding the door open for me. But she would be the only one." He was staring at the empty field now, biting into his sausage thing nonchalantly. But even a Gamorrean would recognize the sullen look on his face.

That awkward silence threatened to fall between them again. She didn't want it to now. Something almost made her..._pity_ him. A little voice inside told her he deserved what he got for his insubordination. But another voice told that littler voice to shut up for once. She couldn't imagine not being able to return to the Jedi. And any Jedi who had his record expunged...They didn't exist. No Master would repeat his name. It was no wonder she had never heard them call him anything but _Revan_. Not even Master Sunrider. They weren't indulging him. They were ostracizing him. It was their way of punishing him, of making an example of him—all while appearing supportive of the war for the press. Seeing him so sullen now, she no longer had the heart to do the same.

She had to change the subject. To something—anything—else. And yet...

"You really believe in what you're doing," she blurted. She instantly regretted her words, but it was too late to take them back.

Revan finished his sausage, wiping his face with a napkin before starting in on his popcorn.

"I mean..." Now she was stuttering. _Fantastic_. "Do you think it was worth it?"

He took another sip of his soda, and at last looked back at her with a sigh. "I don't know," he said.

"You don't _know_?"

He leaned toward her. "Well, why don't you tell me? Did I do the right thing? Everyone seems to have their own answer. I think I've heard your own opinion already. But maybe after what you've seen so far you've changed your mind."

"I..." She trailed off uncertainly.

"I thought as much," he said, and sat back into his seat, his gaze intently studying the empty field.

"That's not fair," she said.

His only reply was to munch on a fistful of popcorn.

"Revan...Look. I know I should probably not...tell you this."

He was chewing. Swallowing. Still staring at the field.

She took a deep breath. She was going to regret this. "When I was on Dantooine...Well, Vrook Lamar used to be my Master. He...he was the most opinionated about you. He was the most opinionated about _me_, actually. I...I never could do things the way he wanted. I tried. I really did. But I was always too emotional, or too impatient, or too...Well, you get the idea. I couldn't measure up."

Revan's head finally turned to face her again, his eyebrow arching in annoyance.

"My-my point is...I realized one day that if Master Vrook was always so critical of me, it was because he was comparing me to you. Ever since you were knighted, actually. We all were compared to you. You were the highest standard, the ultimate measuring stick. Even after you did what you did, the Masters never stopped comparing us to you. If anything, they became that much harder on us. I suppose...Well I suppose they were all afraid we'd actually be just like you and run off to war. The truth is, the Order was never the same because of you."

Bastila paused, pursing her lips. She wasn't sure if she should continue. She'd never live it down. But the frown on Revan's face spurred her on.

"Look, what I'm about to tell you...Please don't rub it in."

He gave her a reassuring nod.

"All right. I suppose I should just come out and say it. Sometimes, I used to...somewhat...contemplate...joining you." She closed her eyes, holding her breath. She could feel her cheeks turn red.

"Why didn't you?" Revan said softly.

There was no mockery in his voice, which gave Bastila the courage to open her eyes again. But she still averted them to their shared armrest. "Well, I was seventeen, for one. But...I didn't think I measured up. No one thought there was anything special about me. My Battle Meditation was yet undiscovered. I was a marginal student at best."

"Marginal?"

"Well, it's not as though I didn't try. I did. I just...I was much older than most when I was taken into the Order. It's always been a struggle. But try as I might, I never did quite measure up. Master Vrook always did make that clear to me. If the Jedi Order would barely take me, I doubted you would. I..." She trailed off, closing her eyes.

She felt a hand on her arm.

"You are anything but marginal," Revan said.

"I've...I've tried so hard. And I was finally making progress. They finally noticed. They finally stopped comparing me."

"And then I came along?"

She sniffed, nodding with a wry smile. "Yes. Revan the human measuring stick."

He sighed, patting her arm. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid they'll be that much more critical of you now that you're with me."

She sniffed again. "Don't I know it."

"So when you were contemplating joining me, was it because you agreed with me?"

She shook her head, finally looking up at him. "I honestly don't know. I think I was just daydreaming of getting away from it all. I suppose when you're compared day in and day out to someone, no matter how hard you try... It just makes you want to give up trying."

Revan nodded thoughtfully. "And if you had to make a choice today...If they recalled you to Coruscant...What would you do?"

"I...I don't know."

"Liar."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"It's my turn to call you that. I think you know the answer. You just don't want to admit it."

"Look. It's all just so...confusing." She knit her brow, shaking her head. "I don't have all the answers."

"But you have an idea of right and wrong. What do _you_ think is the more correct path? Not what _they_ think. What _you_ think. In the end, your actions are your own. You can't hold them accountable for your own decisions."

"I understand what you're trying to say. I just don't know. And who am I to question those who are older and wiser than I?" She removed her arm from underneath his hand and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

Several moments of silence passed between them. Revan was gazing at the armrest where her arm had been but moments before. Bastila was staring down at the same spot. _So much for trying to make him feel better_, she thought.

"I'm sorry," he said at last.

She looked up at him.

His eyes met hers unwaveringly. "I'm sorry I dragged you into all this. You have my word. You _will _take your trials, and you _will_ pass them. With flying colors. I know you will anyway."

"I...That's not what I-"

"I know." He nodded reassuringly. "I just want to make it up to you. When I'm through with you, every Padawan will be compared to you."

She cracked into a smile. "You mean as an example of what not to do?"

"No, I won't corrupt you _that _badly_._ But I think it's long past time we proved Vrook Lamar wrong. You're an excellent student. I don't care what he says."

"I noticed."

"Which is why your life is going to be hell for the next year or so."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"We'd best step up your training if we're going to prove him wrong. Don't you agree?"

"I-I..."

She never had a chance to get her bearings. Stadium fireworks popped into the night air as the two limmie teams came out onto the field. The crowd roared their approval. Revan stood up with them, his popcorn flying everywhere as he hollered for the home team. Bastila had to raise her hand to shield her eyes from the popcorn hailstorm.

"Stand up!" he said.

She grudgingly obliged, precariously balancing her popcorn and cotton candy.

"Come on!" Revan said, having to shout over the crowd. "Have some fun! This the last bit of fun you'll have for a long time!"

Bastila rolled her eyes. Limmie was definitely _not _her idea of fun.

"Oh, I almost forgot!"

Her head snapped to look at him.

"I put down one thousand credits on this game."

Her jaw dropped open. "You did _what_?"

"Don't worry! I'll split it with you. Fifty-fifty."

She dropped her popcorn and candy, her hands clenching into fists. "But that's unethical! I-I can't _believe_ you would-"

"Why not? You could sure use some practice. Might as well make some credits while we're here."

"You mean y-you want me to-?"

He put a finger on her lips. "Let's just say if I lose my credits, I'll dump you back in that kinrath nest and leave you here for good." He smiled at her sweetly.

Mortified, she sat down. Something told her he wasn't joking—past experience, in particular. The choice was simple. Throw a game, or be thrown into a kinrath nest. She closed her eyes, and chose the former.

"And don't forget to have fun!" Revan said.

Oddly enough, she did have fun doing it.

**.:.**

They arrived back at the _Ravager_ with twenty minutes to spare before the jump to Manaan, having taken the last shuttle collecting those soldiers on shore leave. Revan had insisted on taking the Navy shuttle rather than his own ship, since he didn't want to waste Navy credits on fuel for anything that wasn't a business trip. Bastila couldn't help but rub it in that he had moral values in this area but not on throwing a game.

He merely shrugged his shoulders. "The wager's just with Alek and Em. And you do need to practice on _something_, don't you?"

They at last reached Bastila's quarters. She placed her hands on her hips. "Well, your wager now involves me, now doesn't it"

"I'll pay you as soon as I've collected."

"Paying me for my silence?"

"I should hope you wouldn't need to be paid, since _you're_ the one who threw the game."

"Oh." He was right. She couldn't betray him to Master Sunrider without incriminating herself.

"Well, I'd best get back to work. Thank you for accompanying me."

She nodded. "Of course. And thank you. Especially for..."

He raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

"For our talk."

"Don't worry about it," he said. His gaze shifted to look down at his feet. Then he looked back up at her. "Look, I don't...I don't think you should confide in me."

Bastila shook her head in confusion. "I don't understand. I was just-"

"You understand that I...that I don't really mean it when I flirt with you, right?"

"Excuse me?"

He ran a hand through his hair, heaving a frustrated sigh. "Sorry. I'm not trying to put you on the spot. I just...I need you to understand. I was just teasing. It's sort of a hobby of mine. I like to test people's limits on their self control. That's all that was with you. Just...don't get attached to me. It's best you see me merely as a teacher and commander. I can't afford attachments in a war, and neither can you. Not even friendships."

She was stunned. _She_ wasn't the one flirting; _he _was! If anyone was guilty of inappropriate behavior, it was _him_.

"I don't believe it," she said at last. "You actually that I...that I'm _attached_ to you?"

He shook his head. "I'm just making things clear for you. You're young. I'm devastatingly handsome. I don't want you confused with us being in such close proximity all the time."

"_Devastatingly _handsome? Please!"

He shrugged his shoulders, a smirk playing on his face. "You can recommend a better adverb?"

She huffed in disgust. "Well, you have nothing to worry about, _Master_. I well know the Jedi Code. Unlike _you_, who is always acting inappropriately. Trust me when I say that I am not in the least bit interested in any _attachment_ to you."

He gave her a lopsided smirk. "Liar," he said. "We both know the _real _reason you used to fantasize about joining me in the war."

A blush crept to her cheeks. "Y-you are so _full_ of yourself!"

"I wouldn't blame you for having a crush. Nine out of ten women agree: Handsomest bachelor of the year."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, then I'm the _one_ out of ten, because I certainly _don't_ have a crush on you."

He took a deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry. I just want to make sure you understand. The Jedi are right about any attachments, even friendship. As much as I enjoy your company...Even if we weren't teacher and student, we could never so much as be friends. I don't ever want your judgment compromised, nor mine. That's all I meant. I don't think we should confide like that again."

She nodded, mollified. She could still feel the heat in her cheeks.

"Anyway, none of that should bother you, with you being a proper Jedi and all. Unless you really do have a crush?" He raised an eyebrow.

Bastila merely shook her head. "Goodnight, _Master_." She punched the controls to her door. It slid open with a swoosh, and she stepped inside her quarters as quickly as possible, shutting the door behind her before he could say _goodnight_ himself. She could not believethe _arrogance_ of that man. That he would instigate the things he did, and then turn them around on her, as though _she _were the one who did those things...

She sat down on her bunk. Of course she didn't have a crush. Yet she couldn't help but feel stung. Why was that? Was it just that she didn't want him to think so lowly of her? Or did she really...?

No. No, she didn't. Of course she didn't. He was far too vain. And she was a _proper _Jedi. Unlike _him_. And yet she felt so confused.

She stuffed that feeling down, reciting the Code. She would prove him wrong. In fact, she would prove them all wrong. In but one year, she'd be taking her trials. That, she vowed. And for once, Revan would be compared with _her_.

She peeled off her boots, and let her head drop to the pillow. Something hard underneath bumped her in the head. She sat up, looking down at the offending lump. She felt under the pillow with her hands, and pulled out a cylindrical object.

It was her lightsaber.

She switched it on. Instead of yellow, it glowed pink.

There was no curse word she could think of that appropriately (or even inappropriately) expressed her sentiments. So she said the only word that came to mind.

"Malak," she muttered under her breath.

**.:.**

"Chancellor, another glass?"

The Supreme Chancellor eyed the bottom of his drained glass dubiously. "Only one more. I would hate to have to be dragged home."

"Yes, Tarisian ale does have a bite to it. Senator Toben? Senator Rial?"

"Yes, please!" They shouted in unison.

"Merias, what year is this bottle?" the Chancellor asked.

"This one is..."—she looked at the label—"two hundred years old."

"Ah!"

"Drink to your hearts' content, gentlemen. As you can see, I have plenty more bottles to pull from the rack."

The Chancellor couldn't imagine opening yet another bottle. His head was already swimming from one glass. Just eying the rack from his cushioned seat made him dizzy.

"You are most kind, Senator Merias. So tell me, what did you think of our Revanchist?" He swirled his freshly filled glass.

She reseated herself, draining the last of the bottle into her own glass, and finally setting the empty bottle down on the shelf beside her seat. She shot him a thin smile. "Quite the hero."

"Of course. But what do you _think_ of him?"

Her thin smile tightened. "I think he is...dangerous."

"Hmph. How so?"

"How not?" Rial interjected. "He controls one third of the Republic Navy!"

"Well, it is not as if he controls _everything_. It _is _what we agreed upon when giving him command. Besides, we should put the Defense Ministry to some use, given the amount of tax credits it costs to pay all those admirals."

Toben snickered. "I think the competition with Revan is good for them. Forces them to try to outperform him. Everyone wins."

The Chancellor raised his glass. "Here, here!"

"Still," Merias continued, "he is dangerous. You can't deny that."

"I fail to see your point, Senator."

"Come now! He shows signs of insubordination! Just look at how he spoke to you today!"

"He was merely trying to reason with me. And I don't blame him for disagreeing with our decision. We've certainly created more work for him to do."

She shook her head. "You misunderstand my point. He has too much power. The day will come when he begins to test his limits. You see how he despises us. You see how the masses follow him. How the military worships him. History has proven that a general with too much power, once he has liberated his people, often turns against them."

The Chancellor drained his glass. "I doubt he _despises _us. We represent the very people he is saving, after all."

Toben laughed, nearly choking on his ale. "If the Revanchist believes that, then he's not nearly as brilliant as the press and Defense Ministry praise him to be."

The Chancellor rolled his eyes. "You're just jealous that his poll numbers are higher than yours."

Rial tilted his head. "That includes your own poll numbers, Chancellor."

"Indeed. Indeed. He is quite the politician, isn't he? Force help us if he ever decides to run for the Senate!"

"Still," Merias said, "all levity aside, Revan must be monitored."

"Merias, you're being paranoid."

"He has already proven that he is insubordinate to his own Jedi Order. What makes you think he will behave differently toward us? No, he must be stopped before he even starts."

"What are you suggesting?"

She took a deep breath. "He should be watched for now. Use him against the Mandalorians. But the moment he has outlived his usefulness..."

"What? Relieve him of command?"

Rial sniffed. "I doubt a leader like that would ever allow himself to be relieved."

"Certainly not as long as he thinks there is a battle to be fought," Toben said.

"Then simply allow him to win the war!" the Chancellor said. "If we stay out of his way, he'll win it. Then he can go back to his monk-like existence in the Order and vex us no more."

"Yes, the Order would simply love to have him back," Toben said dryly.

"But Chancellor," Merias said, "I believe you've made my point for me. As you say, he vexes us. Hence we sit here fretting over him. But we clearly vex him as well. You saw how he was today. Like we are nothing more than an annoyance. What makes you think this war will end with the Mandalorians?"

"A man with so much power..." Rial sighed. "Why would anyone lay it down if he thinks there is a wrong yet to right?"

"Precisely," Merias said. "And he sees us as a wrong. Don't you see, Chancellor?"

"What then?" the Chancellor said. "Do we kill him once we no longer need him? He's a war hero! Look at all he's done for us!"

Merias nodded. "Yes, and he will do much more for us. Even in his death. Would you rather him die a hero, or a villain?"

"I think I'll take another glass after all," the Chancellor said, shaking his head.

Merias rose, reaching for another bottle on the rack. She deftly opened it with a cork screw. "Remember, we are only speaking of the worst-case scenario. For now, we simply watch him. Any sign of insubordination, and we act before it is too late."

She walked over to the Chancellor's seat, and poured him another glass. The Chancellor's eyes drifted the the bottle's label, narrowing when he saw the year.

"That bottle is only three months old?" he said, his speech slurring ever so slightly. His head was feeling woozier after that second glass. Force knew what a third glass would do. But that's what the misses was for.

"Yes. I figured your taste buds wouldn't notice the difference at this point. Given the cost of a two hundred year old bottle. I hope you don't mind."

"No, no. Not at all. I'm just...surprised. Given the Republic blockade of Taris. It must have been difficult to procure a new bottle."

She merely smiled—that thin, stretched, ghastly smile that always made him shiver deep inside—and turned away, pouring the other two gentlemen another glass.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Happy Memorial Day, everybody! :)

Sorry for the late update. This is a very important chapter to get the next set of events going. This story has a lot of moving parts, and it takes a lot of work to keep it all straight without introducing plot holes. As it was, I had to split this chapter, as it's already grown quite long with new scenes I hadn't planned on having before.

Anyway, I hope you'll forgive me for such a long wait between chapters. I also ask your forgiveness in advance for all future delays. As you can see, I am far from abandoning this story. It's just that it's like cooking spaghetti sauce—it must be done slowly, one layer at a time. And let's face it: Writing is really, really hard!

Some of you were asking what limmie was (from the prior chapter). I was looking for Star Wars sports games, and found limmie listed on Wookieepedia. It's some sort of ball game. No details were given in the Wookieepedia entry to clarify it. In my mind, it's like polo. Not that I'm a rabid polo fan or anything, but it is my understanding that polo players tend to have high IQs due to all the complex rules. Ergo, spectators most likely have reasonably high IQs to know what is going on. Revan strikes me as someone who would appreciate a complex spectator sport that is action-packed and requires physical exertion (as opposed to watching a chess game for several hours). So I personally imagine space-polo, at least until the Star Wars EU provides us with more concrete information.

Thanks again for reviewing! I hope this chapter meets your expectations!

**CHAPTER 10**

_Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit._

**.:.**

_Dear Senator Merias:_

_I am most pleased that you were able to keep Taris fully blockaded. We both know that it is in the best economic interest for all involved—something which the military fails to comprehend time and time again._

_I promise your contribution will not be forgotten in your next fundraiser._

_Yours truly,_

_Davik Kang_

_Taris Exchange Corporation_

**.:.**

Cassus Fett stalked the dimly-lit fortress corridors, a scowl under his helm. His mind was spinning to come up with a way to salvage the situation. He couldn't enter the hall empty-handed. Not if he wanted to save his honor. He knew what his father would say. But he wasn't about to die for nothing. Not when there was a defensible position to fall back to.

Still, by the time he reached the hall, he had come up with nothing. He nearly turned around to head back to the landing pad and leave, even as he raised his hand to the door controls. But that, too, was considered cowardice. No, he would face up to his actions. Surely they all understood by now that Revan somehow, inexplicably, fought with renewed vigor. It was as though he were using a Jedi mind trick on them all, causing them to flee in shame at every battle.

But good luck explaining that to Mandalore. Good luck blaming Jedi sorcery on their losses. The fact that Cassus had at least prevented Revan and Malak from keeping the two Mandalorian fleets separated should have impressed his father. But no. Because after months of being driven back, of having their supply lines constantly ambushed, of nearly being cordoned off from any reinforcements from Onderon, of actually _surviving_ Revan's witchcraft...He'd never been given any credit. Only blame. All while Mandalore barked impossible orders. He wasn't there. He was safe behind his reinforcements. Hiding in his fortress at Dxun, orbiting the planet of Onderon that hosted his massive fleet. Planning and plotting. He wasn't the one who had to hold the line, to use hit and run tactics to keep Revan from using his sorcery.

Cassus took a deep breath to steady himself, and finally forced his hand to punch the door controls. Entering the room, he bowed deeply and removed his helmet, not daring to look Mandalore in the eye until he was acknowledged.

The air felt heavy. He could hear the breathing of all the generals gathered in the room.

"I see you have returned," Mandalore said at last, disdain dripping in his voice.

Cassus slowly straightened, looking his father in the eye. But he dared not answer.

"Come. Sit. Eat. Drink."

He obeyed, walking to the great table. The clan generals gathered there looked up at him expectantly. Several eyes were almost feral with delight at his impending humiliation. Cassus quietly noted them to himself. The general from clan Ordo—Canderous, he remembered—particularly caught his eye. It was no small secret that Canderous Ordo had no love for Cassus Fett.

He sat down, to the right of Mandalore, and poured himself mead from the pitcher. He drained it in three great gulps, and poured himself another round. Then he tore a leg off the shared meat platter before him—some great beast hunted earlier in the day—and began to eat ravenously. As was expected. There could be no business without feasting. _We eat and drink, for tomorrow we die_, as the saying among his people went. And he knew his father would likely prefer he die, on whatever impossible mission he ordered, for all the so-called dishonor his retreats had caused. So he ate, angrily digging his teeth into the flesh, and ripping the meat from the bone like a rabid kath hound.

He finished his portion, and wiped the juices from his chin with a sleeve, washing the meal down with another drought of mead. His eyes casually glanced at the other generals, avoiding his own father. They were ignoring him now, attending to their own platters, and striking up their various conversations. Here and there, they laughed heartily, as though there were no war. The torchlight and firelight from the great hearth reflected a sickly yellow-orange on their faces.

_So much like their eyes,_ he thought, and shuddered. He locked that thought away. He preferred not to think of that.

But the fire did bring a wry smile to his face as well. For all their technology, still they clung to their old traditions: Fire at a hearth, torches, a great hall at which the warriors feasted under the banner of their warrior-king. And the fire was only proper. The fire of judgment—the wrath they all deserved. They could dress up their war with all the so-called honor they wanted. He knew what it really was. They were nothing but murderers and plunderers. And not even for themselves. It sickened him. Not that they were at war, but that they were hypocrites. There was no honor here. Only power. At least he understood that. Honor and power were sore companions. One could not have both. One had to choose. Both could bring respect, but only one could ensure it could be retained. He had chosen power long ago. In this, their overlords were correct.

At last, the feast came to its end. Contented warriors leaned back in their chairs. Conversation died down, and all eyes turned to Mandalore. Cassus kept his gaze fixed on his empty platter, however, as he waited for his humiliation to begin.

Mandalore rose. Of all the participants, he was the only one not to eat, for that would involve removing his mask. Instead, he played the role of the benevolent ruler, hosting a feast for his warriors. And as host, he circled the great table, refilling each and every last cup with mead. He would only eat after his warriors ate—alone, from the leftovers, with his false sense of humility and honor.

At last, he came full circle to his seat at the head of the table, and finished by refilling Cassus' cup.

He seated himself once more. "So," he began, "we have lost our trade route through Balamak."

Cassus merely drained his cup with angry gulps.

"What plans do you have to retake it?"

Cassus straightened in his chair. "With all due respect, Mandalore, I do not think it wise to face Revan head on."

Canderous spoke up. "Mandalore, if we cede more ground, we will lose all our trade routes to Hutt space."

A host of others guffawed their agreement. Cassus only ground his teeth.

"Then it is settled," Mandalore said. "We must retake what is ours. But what shall we do with Revan?"

Cassus swallowed hard, and prepared his own answer. He could not allow himself to be shamed.

"We do as we have been. We ambush his supply lines. He is too far from home. He will withdraw as he weakens. He is in _our_ territory, now."

"Coward," Canderous hissed under his breath.

Cassus bolted to his feet, unsheathing a dagger from his belt. "Care to test me?"

Canderous likewise leaped to his feet, a dagger in his hand.

Mandalore stood, placing a placating hand on his son's shoulder, and holding out the other hand in Canderous' direction.

"Peace, brothers. There are no enemies here."

Both men slowly sat down and sheathed their daggers, but neither removed his gaze from the other.

"My brothers," Mandalore said. "What Cassus has done is wise, but we cannot continue this forever. Revan gains ground. We must eventually face him. Either we do so here, or we do so on his own territory."

Canderous nodded. "Mandalore, he cannot be everywhere at once. A surprise attack on one of his fortified routes to the Core Worlds would force him away from our trade routes, and cut him off from his own."

"Zeltros!" General Bralor shouted. A few others clapped their agreement. Zeltros was a major supply lane for Revan's fleet from the Core. It had also served well in their prior invasion of Duros. It was the key to regaining everything they had lost. Only, Cassus knew it was also madness to try for it again.

"And how shall we keep Zeltros once Revan arrives?" Cassus said.

"Perhaps if we held our ground, we could," Canderous said.

Cassus had half a mind to volunteer Canderous for the job, but he held his tongue. He would not remain Field Marshall much longer if Canderous showed him up. There was no getting out of this one. He knew what would happen next.

And sure enough...

"Such a plan will need many ships," Mandalore said coolly. "Who among you has the courage and honor to carry out the will of Mandalore?"

Cassus spoke quickly, and boldly. He would not allow Canderous room to shame him. "I will do your will, my lord. Only, I ask that we send some forces to secure Balamak as a distraction."

It was General Jendri who spoke next. "How will we supply the numbers to take Zeltros if we divide our forces so?" He was no fool, which made him question everything. But at least he did not do so mockingly. For that, Cassus had always highly regarded him.

"Indeed," said Mandalore. "We cannot empty out Dxun too much. Or else Revan will attack us _here_."

"Taris," said Cassus coolly.

Murmuring erupted at this one word. Canderous shook his head vehemently.

_Of course_, Cassus thought. _The bulk of his clan is there. Taking their ease. Wouldn't want Clan Ordo to have to fight like the rest of us._

Cassus held up a hand for silence. "Taris. We move our reinforcements from there quietly. They will take no note. And should they discover our numbers lessened there, no matter. The Republic is too soft take it. Revan will be too occupied with Zeltros to turn his attention there."

General Jendri nodded, a glint in his eye. "Yes. Taris' orbital defenses and a garrison are more than enough to hold back any attack for many weeks. Time enough to reinforce it after Zeltros is won."

Bralor smacked the table. "Then we take Zeltros!"

All at once, the generals began laughing heartily, and slapping each other's backs, as though Cassus had merely proposed they find a cantina and have a pint, rather than take a planet. But the mood change was a positive sign. He had won their hearts and minds. All except General Ordo, who was staring daggers at him.

Cassus merely raised his cup in a mock toast, and drank deeply. If Canderous Ordo wanted a fight, it was a fight he'd get. Right in the front lines with the rest of clan Ordo, where he could have his honor, and die with it.

**.:.**

Bastila sat hunched over the computer terminal inside a salvaged Mandalorian striker ship, which in turn laid strewn inside the _Ravager_'s hangar. Outside the cracked cockpit viewport, technicians were reverse engineering a captured Basilisk droid—one of the few whose self-destruct mechanism had failed to activate. An arc of electricity shot out, causing one of the techs to dodge to the side. The droid's massive, dragon-like body convulsed for a few moments, causing even more techs to scramble away in terror. Then it raised it's head, it's eyes suddenly flickering to life with an eery glow. Fortunately, one of the techs had kept his head, and pulled the connection to the droid's internal power supply. The robotic beast collapsed to the ground, limp, it's eyes dead once more.

But none of the activity outside the cockpit fazed Bastila. She had seen several similar mishaps with that droid over the last few days. It was almost routine for the technicians' mad science experiments to periodically go wrong. Which was why they always kept the connection cable to the power supply within easy reach. So Bastila ignored it all, instead staring intently at the progress bar displayed on the computer terminal.

This would be the one. It had to be. It had taken six salvaged Mandalorian ship comm units, two expired decryption keys from said comm units, and one intercepted message from the Defense Ministry to get this far. They were so close to breaking their codes.

She tapped her fingers. Of course it would work this time. Bao-Dur had tried every possible known algorithm, every last known equation solution for the decryption process, based on the computers they'd captured. This was it. It had to be. Then, she could finally report something useful. Or, at worst, she could finally report that breaking their codes was impossible. Which wouldn't go over well.

She leaned back in her seat with a wary sigh. Four months. Four months of pouring Revan's caffa. Still, at least Revan was trusting her with more important tasks. In particular, she was his official aide, and as such he had placed her in various assignments that introduced her to the ins and outs of the Republic Navy. Every few weeks, she rotated to a new assignment. She researched strategies, both Mandalorian and Republic, and regularly touched base with various Mercy Corp generals and Naval officers on Revan's behalf. She even attended staff meetings in his stead, and made decisions in them, even though these tended to be less important meetings for which he was too preoccupied to be bothered with. And, of late, she oversaw Revan's pet projects, and reported directly to him regarding their progress.

She was his blasted protocol droid.

Except the actual protocol droid he occasionally tinkered with in the machine shop received better treatment than she did. She worked long hours with little thanks. And he always loved throwing new tasks at her that made no sense. For example, drafting a task order—only she didn't know what one was. Or perhaps relaying a reply to the Defense Ministry, only she didn't know the right comm channel. It was like she was being hazed. Only, he called it "training." Granted, Revan did do real training with her, and he was a hard taskmaster in this as well.

But none of her assigned activities dealt with her frustration. They only made it worse. She felt useless—extra baggage along for the ride. Four months of a stalemate, and no end in sight.

She couldn't blame the Mandalorians. She wouldn't want to face her own Battle Meditation either. And while they had not yet associated it with _her _per se, they knew _something_ was crushing their morale, and they were thus more wary of facing Revan in open battle. The Mandalorians now relied on maneuverability and raid-like strikes to push out from Onderon, similar to how Revan had started out earlier in the war. If ever Revan's fleet found them, they simply withdrew, attempting to outmaneuver him, and found "safer" targets to attack.

Likewise, Revan played the same ambush games they did, trying to cut off supply lines as they did to him. But Bastila rarely had the chance to use her Battle Meditation effectively. Not with such short battles. And she certainly wasn't allowed to physically participate in any battle, for fear of harm coming to her. Instead, Revan invented other ways that she could be useful, keeping up appearances that she was just another voluntary Revanchist—a very young Padawan being trained for command, learning the fundamentals of leadership under his wing. She didn't blame Revan for his overprotectiveness, but that didn't mean she didn't feel restless. She certainly hadn't been conscripted to be his personal aide.

The progress bar crawled along. Did it just move a pixel? Or was that her imagination?

"Would you like some caff?" Bao-Dur said behind her.

Bastila heaved a sigh. "I suppose so." She pursed her lips. No one had ever offered to pour her caffa before. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I would like that very much. Thank you." Yet another reason for her to like Bao-Dur. He always treated her respectfully. Unlike so many soldiers, who looked down on such a young Padawan giving them orders in Revan's stead. After all, what seasoned soldier would want to be commanded by a nineteen-year-old? The Jedi well into their twenties or older they respected, but not her.

She heard Bao-Dur pad away through the cockpit door. A few minutes later, and he returned, placing a steaming cup of the Republic's cheapest caffa in her hand. She took a sip, and swallowed the bitter liquid with a wince.

"Thank you," she muttered, and returned to staring at the screen.

"You know, a watched decryption program never boils. Er, I mean, never _finishes_."

Bastila smirked at the joke. "I know. But..."

"It might still not work. And for all we know, the message only contains the secret to streak-free windows. Why stress over it?"

"Because we need it to work."

He made no reply, and sat down in the empty seat next to her, tinkering with the diagnostic feed on his datapad.

Of course, there was another reason she was staying up past 0200 with Bao-Dur and the other techs. Revan had a strict policy for all Mercy Corp officers—if you made those under your command stay up late, you stayed up late with them. Bastila had come to realize it was a good rule. No leader was above his men. Revan himself adhered to this rule, and everyone respected him for it. Even _she_ now respected him, though she would barely admit that to herself, let alone to him.

The man worked himself to death. Everyone saw it. Everyone was driven to earn his approval because of it. And that included Bastila, as loathe as she was to admit it. At last, she understood why everyone followed him. Even though she'd likely never fully agree with him (if only for the sake of being obstinate), she found herself admiring him more and more each day. Thinking about what made him so magnetic.

She shook her head from her reverie. It wasn't appropriate to think about anyone like that—to idolize someone. Not that _she _idolized him, but her train of thought could certainly lead to that. And she wasn't about to become yet another Revanchist zealot.

She rested her chin in her hand, turning her thoughts away. The progress bar had moved a few more pixels.

Warily, she sighed, taking another sip of bitter caffa. _Now I know why Revan prefers sugar in his caff, _she thought. Then, detecting that her thoughts had wandered back to the same subject, she once more redirected her thoughts. More forcibly, this time.

Fortunately, a flashing box lit the terminal screen, disturbing her from her unsuccessful attempt to think of something—_someone_—else.

"Bao-Dur!" she called out, never taking her eyes off the screen.

He sprung from his chair, peering over her shoulder. Both their eyes widened.

"You did it!" Bastila said. "But it's in Mandalorian. What does it say?"

"Ah, sorry about that, Commander." He leaned over and typed a few commands. The strange text was replaced with familiar words, although somewhat out of order, the adjectives here and there appearing after the nouns rather than before, or the subject appearing after the verb.

Bastila's eyes skimmed across the text. "Oh Force!" She bolted from her seat. "Five days! When was this message intercepted?"

"Two days ago, Commander. You'd best tell General Revan."

She whipped out her commlink from her robe. "Master," she said.

Nothing.

"Master?"

A garbled crackle met her ears.

"Master!"

"What is it?" came the reply at last, in a groggy tone that said, _It's 0200, I just finally fell asleep, and this had better be good._

"We've...made progress," Bastila said, remembering her orders. No one could know they'd cracked the Mandalorians' codes. If word were to reach the Mandalorians of their success, they would change both their plans and their encryption keys. Bastila cleared her throat. "Shall I assemble the staff officers in the briefing room?"

The voice on the other end paused for a moment. "No. Just comm Em and Alek. All of you meet me in my quarters. Tell no one."

Bastila knit her brow in confusion. "All right. May I ask why-?"

"I'll explain later. Is Bao-Dur with you?"

"Yes." She handed her commlink to him.

"I'm here, sir," Bao-Dur said, his hand trembling just a bit. Perhaps it was the excitement of the moment, or perhaps he'd never spoken with the Revanchist before.

"Who else knows about this?"

"N-no one, sir. All the other techs are working on the Basilisk droid."

"Keep it that way. And good work." Revan disconnected his comm before Bao-Dur could reply.

"He spoke to me!" Bao-Dur whispered excitedly, his eyes staring dreamily into vacant space.

Bastila rolled her eyes, and snatched her commlink from his trembling hands.

"Do me a favor, Bao-Dur," she said, plugging her datapad into the ship's computer to download the decrypted message.

"Of course, Commander. Anything."

"I know you're tired, but I need you to set up another run of your decryption algorithm. Make sure its the version that failed. Make it look like you're still at it. Then get some sleep. You deserve it."

She raced out of the cockpit, and off the broken ship, leaving behind a very sleepy-eyed, but still very excited, Iridonian.

**.:.**

Twenty minutes later, Bastila and Malak were standing side-by-side in Revan's quarters, watching Revan reading the decrypted message from Bastila's datapad over and over again. He was still in a Navy T-shirt and sweat pants, his hair mussed, slouching tiredly on his perch atop his desk.

"Stop leaning in on me," Bastila hissed.

Malak smirked. "Well where else am I supposed to stand?"

"You're in my personal space."

"So?"

Revan absentmindedly raised a hand, still studying the datapad. "Play nice, children," he said.

Bastila took a deep breath, counting backwards from one hundred, desperately resisting the temptation to dig her heel into Malak's foot.

Fortunately, a knock at the door saved her.

"Enter," Revan said, at last putting aside the datapad.

Surik strode in, the door swishing shut behind her. "Sorry I'm late, sir. My task force was about to leave."

"I know. Your mission might have to continue without you."

"Sir?"

Revan motioned to her to come closer, and handed her the datapad. Her eyebrows furrowed as she read its contents.

"This is the message broadcasted from Taris that the Defense Ministry intercepted two days ago," Bastila said. "Bao-Dur broke the encryption code."

"Force," Surik said. "Five days?"

"That was two days ago."

"What interests me more," Revan said, "is the other information contained in the message."

Surik squinted as she scanned the message again. "Yes, a shipment of kolto to Taris. What of it?"

Even Malak raised an eyebrow this time, and walked over to Surik (which only took half a step in Revan's cramped quarters) to stare over her shoulder.

"If you're referring to the use of Exchange ships to smuggle kolto from Manaan to the Mandalorians," Bastila said, "then I'm not quite sure what exactly you find interesting. I think the defense of Zeltros is the more important subject to discuss."

Revan crossed his arms, shaking his head. "It's not what they're smuggling, or even who is doing the smuggling. It's when and where."

Surik was the first to make the connection. "The Taris orbital defense system."

"Precisely," Revan said with a curt nod.

Surik turned to Bastila. "They'll have to disable the orbital defense system to receive the shipment."

Malak nodded in understanding. "And they'll only lower it if the ship has the proper codes, and arrives on schedule."

"Which is five days after they launch their assault on Zeltros," Revan said. "And incidentally, as the message indicates, Taris will have been emptied of a large portion of its fleet for the assault."

Bastila shook her head. "What good is any of that information? It's not as though we could intercept the shipment anyway. It would be next to impossible to determine their flight plan."

"I disagree," said Revan. "By now the Exchange must know the optimal routes to avoid detection from the Republic fleet. There are only a few places they could pass through in relative safety. And we know they will need to refuel. They will also need to arrive at their destination relatively on time, which means they will have to use major hyperspace lanes."

Malak nodded. "Kashyyyk."

"Yes. We've been leaving that lane wide open, per the Senate's request that Czerka maintain a vital trade route. It's also out of the way. Safe enough to refuel. And only a few days out from Manaan. Besides, Czerka won't report an Exchange freighter. They're all legitimate businessmen, after all." Revan said that last sentence with venom.

Bastila raised her eyebrows. "So we're going to both defend Zeltros and attack Taris at the same time?"

Revan shook his head. "No. That would tip them off that we've broken their codes. We'd lose any chance of taking Taris."

Malak's brow furrowed. "You're not seriously considering leaving Zeltros undefended?"

"They're not entirely helpless. We do have a garrison there."

"But the Mandalorians are putting everything into this!"

"Sir," Surik interjected. "You know I'd follow you anywhere, but I have to say I never thought you'd consider going _here_."

Revan sighed. "I know it sounds calloused. But if we approach this war reactively rather than proactively, we'll end up with the same stalemate at best. At worst, we'll be pushed back from Zeltros and have to start all over again. We need to make progress. And the way I see it, the Zeltrons might very well fare better if we're _not_ there, the way Cassus Fett likes to bomb things. Occupation is a better fate than a fight to the death."

Bastila bit her lip worriedly. She couldn't believe what was coming out of Revan's mouth. A chill silence fell in the room, each person lost in his own thoughts.

At last, Revan spoke again, his head bowed. "I know what I am asking you to participate in is...It's a lot to ask of anyone. I will take full responsibility for the outcome. I only ask that you consider the lives saved in the long term. Right now, we are fighting a war of attrition. If we don't liberate Taris now, the chance may never come again."

Malak and Surik looked at each other, exchanging a message that neither Bastila nor Revan could decrypt. At last, they turned to Revan. "We're with you, Master," Malak said.

All eyes turned to Bastila. She shook her head vehemently. "The Defense Ministry will never approve of this. And neither do I. The entire garrison at Zeltros will be wiped out!"

"Which is why we're not telling the Defense Ministry," Revan said, "Nor will we tell Admiral Dodonna or any other Naval officer. The information we've learned here doesn't leave this room."

"Speak for yourself," Bastila said, her hands on her hips. "They have a right to know the numbers game you're playing with _their _resources. And if you think that the Jedi Council will approve of the way you are about to use _me_ as a resource, then think again!"

"Great victories can only happen at great risk," Revan said. "This is why I decided to leave the Defense Ministry out of the loop this time, until we knew more of the message contents. They don't have the nerve to make the politically incorrect decisions, and I'm sick of them practically disarming us in this war."

Bastila snorted. "You're only proving them right. You should be tied up in a straight jacket for considering this!"

"Look, Bastila. I don't want to make this choice, either. But it must be done. You need to think of all the lives it would cost to defend Zeltros if we stood behind her. Hundreds of thousands would die, and we wouldn't have even gained any ground. Taking Taris will likely save more lives. We can flush the Mandalorians out of Zeltros once the Ord Mantell fleet is freed from laying siege to Taris. Surely you can see that the numbers work out better this way? That we save more lives in the long term?"

"No," Bastila said. "I don't. And I'm going straight to Admiral Dodonna with that message. She deserves to know."

She spun around to head for the door, but at a curt nod from Revan, Malak slid in her way, blocking her exit. Bastila turned around to face Revan once more, a look of doubt mixed with betrayal on her face.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," Revan said.

What little admiration for her Jedi Master she still had left drained from her at that moment. "I thought you had honor," she said. "I guess I was wrong."

"You seemed to have confused me with a Mandalorian," Revan said, a pained sarcasm dripping from his voice. He avoided looking her in the eye, and instead gazed absently at the floor from his perch on his desk.

"Well you're no better than a Mandalorian."

His eyes shot up to look at hers. She could read pain in them. Her remark had cut him deeply, for she could have paid him no greater insult. But what surprised her most was that he seemed to care how she saw him. A blink of his eyes later, and the pain was gone, replaced by cold determination.

"What now?" Bastila asked. "Am I just another number to dispose of?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Revan said with a sly smile. He shifted his gaze to the towering man behind her. "Malak, how long until your task force is done resupplying?"

"Just under an hour. Why?"

"Tell Admiral Karath to proceed on his mission without you, and that you'll rendezvous with him in three days at his destination."

"Are we going to use his task force to attack Taris?"

"Yes. But don't tell him just yet. We'll tell him when we meet up with him. By then he'll have just barely heard about Zeltros, and he'll be too far out to do anything about it. My question for you is, do you think we can convince him to attack Taris rather than reinforce Zeltros?"

Malak nodded. "I think he'd love the chance to drive the Mandos off Taris, Master."

"Very well," Revan said. He turned to Surik. "General, have Commander Qel-Droma take over your mission. Make up an excuse."

"Sir?" Surik said. "May I ask what we're doing?"

Revan slapped his hands to together, rubbing them with a grin, directing his gaze toward Bastila. "Padawan Shan, how would you like to go on a field trip to Kashyyyk with us?"

Bastila's only reply was to stomp her heel into Malak's foot. Half a moment later, she was knocked out cold. But not without first being satisfied with hearing Malak's howl of pain.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: This chapter isn't as long as the last, but that's only because I didn't have the heart to make you guys wait yet another week for me to write two more scenes. Hopefully this will tide you over. I personally can't wait to get past Taris (which is roughly the chapter after next) so I can dive into Dxun. Some of my favorite story scenes are going to be in there. Of course, I had a blast writing this chapter, and I know the action in the next chapter should be a lot of fun to write. But Dxun...I've been licking my chops to write the the Dxun chapters for a long time. And now we're almost there!

I also keep forgetting to inform you more about the Duro Senator. At least one person keeps asking about when his next appearance will be. He's a minor character, but you'll see more of him here and there. I think you'll like where he ends up at the end of the story.

Anyway, I really appreciate how you guys have been sticking with this story, even though the waits between chapters have been long. Thank you so much for your patience!

Until next time! Read and review!

**CHAPTER 11**

_Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit._

**.:.**

_Dear Senator Merias,_

_Thank you again for your donation of the Tarisian ale at the press corp dinner party. It was the talk of the whole evening. I hope it wasn't too much trouble for you to procure?_

_Speaking of talk, the rumors seem to be true. Grand Master Nomi Sunrider's Padawan has indeed disappeared. I inquired of her whereabouts the other day, but Master Sunrider would only say that they had "lost another one." I presume she means the Jedi Order lost her to the Revanchists. However, Nomi seemed very secretive about the entire matter, and quickly changed the subject. I could get no more from her._

_But I agree with you. The timing of her disappearance is too coincidental with the sudden turnabout in the war. On a hunch, I had one of my aides investigate. Revan appears to have an aide-de-camp all of a sudden. The timing likewise fits. Interestingly enough, my aide could not find any information regarding the girl's name. Everything is almost top secret about her. And I'm the Supreme Chancellor!_

_We both know of Master Sunrider's unique ability. She was training that Padawan for a good reason, and the entire Jedi Council seems to be keeping this girl's existence a secret, as though they are in league with Revan! Have the two Jedi factions at last reconciled? Could it be that she is some sort of secret weapon?_

_I agree with you. The Republic could use another hero for morale's sake. Revan would be less of a concern were he to share the spotlight more. Besides, I can't think of a better way to fire up this election season than with good news. Which is why I took the opportunity at the press corp dinner, as you suggested, to put some reporters on the story. If anyone can cut through the Navy's red tape and find out more about this girl, they can._

_Yours truly,_

_Tavion Antilles_

_Supreme Chancellor_

**.:.**

The first sensation to enter her conscious mind was a pounding headache. Then a sudden light stabbing through her eyelids. Bastila scrunched her eyes shut more tightly, but that did nothing to lessen the light filtering through.

"Rise and shine!" Revan's voice grated like sandpaper on her brain.

Bastila groaned, her eyelids sliding apart, revealing a blurry mass above her. At least the mass was now blocking some of the light. Still, she couldn't help but wince, and close her eyes once more.

A hand shook her shoulder. "Come on. Get up. We're about to land."

She groaned again as she opened her eyes, willing them to focus despite the pounding in her skull.

Revan's face at last crystalized. "I take it you need an ice pack?"

He tossed a cold object onto her lap. Bastila grasped for it, and dragged it to her face in a sluggish motion, before pressing it lightly to her temple. The throbbing eased somewhat in response.

"You...your _thug_..._hit_ me," she said, the memory of events at last returning to her.

Revan shrugged above her. "You made it necessary."

She raised her head off the pillow. "I hope you lose your commission."

"You just might get your wish," he said with a wry smile. "So...Are you going to come along quietly, or do I have to have Alek come back and hit you over the head again?"

Bastila laid her head back down on the hard pillow, frowning. She didn't like either option. "Whatever," she said. "Just don't expect any help from me."

Revan sat down on the cot with a sigh. "I'm afraid neutrality isn't an option," he said. "We don't have time to babysit you, and we could certainly use your help."

Bastila snorted. "You just want my Battle Meditation."

"It will ensure success of the mission, yes. But we could use your help here, as well. Besides, I'd hate to leave you on the ship alone and unconscious. Kashyyyk isn't the safest of places."

"As if you care."

Revan shook his head. "I do care."

"Tell that to the Zeltrons, and the garrison defending them."

"Oh really? Why don't you tell the Tarisians how much _you_ care about them. Are they any less worthy of your compassion? Do you have any idea how long they've been abandoned to starvation and Mandalorian brutality?"

Bastila had no answer to that, and shut her eyes, pressing the ice pack further into her temple.

"I didn't think so," Revan said. He sighed heavily. A long moment of silence stretched between them. "You know," he said at last, "I don't want to do this either."

"Then don't," she said, opening her eyes and fixing them on him in a determined stare. His eyes met hers, and in them she saw the years of weariness, and all the guilt and indecision he felt. And that's when she realized she just might have the chance to change his mind.

"What's the alternative?" Revan asked, shaking his head. He looked down at his hand, which was partway in his pocket, fidgeting with something she couldn't see.

"A better opportunity will present itself," Bastila said. "Taris _will_ be freed." But her words lacked conviction.

"You don't know that," Revan said, his eyes shifting back to hers. "War is...It's about exploiting your enemy's mistakes. I've been waiting a long time for Mandalore to make a mistake like this. And I don't know if he'll make one again. I...I don't if it will be too late when he does..."

Bastila's eyes widened. "You're afraid you'll make a mistake before then."

Revan nodded. "He hasn't been too kind in the past when I've made them." Then he chuckled sarcastically, shaking his head. "I used to be so naive. I thought war was all about doing the right thing, defending the helpless. Just like you. I never thought...I didn't just wake up one morning and say, 'I think I'll join a war and make impossible decisions where people die no matter what I do.'"

Bastila laid a hand on his arm. "Revan," she said ever so softly. "It isn't just about numbers. You can't always help what lives the enemy will take. They alone are responsible for their actions. All you can help are your own choices. If you are to make a mistake, then make it in favor of doing the right thing."

"But what is the right thing? Neither choice saves lives. Both take them."

Bastila's brow furrowed, her head throbbing. "I would say the right choice is to defend the people who trust you."

"The Tarisians trust me as well. Don't you see? I can't save everyone. I have to choose between them."

And at last, Bastila understood him, and pitied him. He wasn't cruel. He wasn't cold and calculating. He was just a conflicted man, doing the best he could. Logic, math, numbers—they were the only things he could lean on when things became morally blurred.

"Then choose them both," she said.

"How can I, when choosing both means choosing neither?"

She squeezed his arm, a silent plea for him to listen. "It doesn't have to be that way. Go after Taris. But warn Zeltros. Raise their odds. There must be a way. Don't give up on them."

"If I do anything to reinforce Zeltros, and the Mandalorians find out...We could end up losing the entire war in one gambit."

"It's worth the risk."

He shook his head, at last removing his hand from his pocket to rub the bridge of his nose.

"Revan, if you're going to lose your commission, or even the entire war, then do it with a bang. You said it yourself. Great victories take great risks. Win big, or lose big. That's what you said in a speech once, isn't it?"

He snorted. "Now who's the stalker?"

Bastila propped herself up on her elbow, the movement making her head swim. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"How long were you following me on the HoloNet news before we met?"

"I-I wasn't...I mean I didn't really follow-"

A voice on the ship intercom interrupted. "Sir?" Bastila immediately recognized the voice as belonging to General Surik. She cringed at the hiss pop of static over the comm. "Czerka just cleared us to land. ETA two minutes. You might want to buckle in. You know how Malak flies."

Another voice—Malak's—cut in with an angered yelp, before the intercom was cut off.

Revan chuckled, and turned back to Bastila. To her surprise, he stretched out his hand, holding out her lightsaber to her. She hadn't even realized he had taken it. "Can I count on your help?" he asked.

Bastila considered for a moment. If there was a chance by helping him she could even change his mind a little, then it was worth staying conscious. But more importantly, she knew she had a part to play if any lives were to be saved at all. This operation was to go forward with or without her help, but it was her duty as a Jedi to do whatever she could.

Nodding, she lowered the ice pack to the mattress, and took her lightsaber from his hand. "Just do me a favor," she said. "I need a pain reliever and a glass of water."

Revan nodded with a smile. "As soon as we land. Come on." He offered her his hand. She took it, wincing at the renewed throb in her skull as he lifted her up.

"And another thing," Bastila said, her knees wobbling a bit as she stood.

Revan raised his eyebrows, looking at her questioningly.

"Don't think for a moment that I fully agree with what you're doing here," she said. "Whatever respect you might have earned from me in the last few months, whatever trust..."

Revan's gaze shifted to his feet uncomfortably.

"Look, it's the way you went about it. How can I trust you again? After the way you coerced me here, with no choice in the matter? You could have at least trusted me enough to reason with me as you just now did." She shook her head. "If I'm helping you now, it's only out of duty."

Revan nodded. "I know." His gaze returned to meet hers—conflicted, she could tell. "Duty is all I can ask of you." He turned away abruptly, walking out of the cabin and into the corridor.

Bastila staggered behind him, following him into the cockpit. Malak was seated in a battered pilot's seat, with Surik as copilot. Revan sat in the back and buckled himself in. That left Bastila with the only other seat—one with torn leather and what she quickly discovered to be a broken seat buckle.

And Surik's comment made in jest had been correct. Malak flew like he was racing a swoop bike. Bastila fumbled with tying together the two ends of the seat belt even as the ship dove into the atmosphere, the G forces making her sick.

A pair of hands reached over and helped her tie a knot—Revan. And he completed the knot just in time. A sudden jerk of the pilot's stick, and they were both crushed back into their seats.

"Sorry about that," Malak said, and eased up on the stick.

"Where did you get this bucket of bolts?" Bastila said, gripping the armrests with white knuckles.

"I requisitioned the dumpiest freighter in the fleet," Revan said with a wicked grin. "Gotta keep a low profile, sweetheart."

"I wasn't referring to the ship," Bastila said. "I was referring to the idiot pilot."

Surik laughed hysterically at her remark, Revan shot her a wry smile, and Malak...He muttered a few curses under his breath as he fumbled to lower the landing gear. The ship's decline at last began to slow, and Bastila felt the sensation of hovering for a few moments before the ship suddenly lurched as it touched down.

All aboard let loose a held breath, and began to unbuckle their seat belts. All except Bastila, who struggled to untie the knot, even as her head pounded with renewed vigor. The others were already walking out of the cockpit.

"Wait!" she called out. "Don't just leave me here!"

Revan stepped back into the cockpit, a smile playing on his lips. "Must I do _everything_ for you?" he said. He knelt next to her, prying at the knot.

Bastila merely scowled at him in stony silence. At last, the two ends of the belt came free. She rose quickly, brushing past him in a huff and stepping out of the cockpit. Her pulse hammered into her skull mercilessly. She needed a pain reliever, and she needed it _now_. A detour to what looked to be the med bay, and she found what she was looking for. Little white pills in a white bottle. But no water. She didn't care at that point. She downed a couple of pills, cringing at the bitter flavor as they cleaved to her dry tongue. Then she at last made her way past the cargo hold to the already lowered ramp.

The others had already stepped outside, and, to Bastila's surprise, Revan had donned his mask.

"We need to speak to your port authority immediately," Revan was saying.

The Czerka official in front of him looked shocked at seeing what appeared to be the Revanchist himself. But, more than he looked shocked, he looked skeptical.

"It's still a hundred credits to dock," he said.

Revan gave a nod to Surik, who in turn pulled out credits from her satchel and grudgingly slapped them into the man's palm.

"I'll be back for a refund," she said sweetly.

"The port authority is just down the walkway," the man said, a smug smirk on his lips that said he wouldn't give a refund to his own mother.

The Jedi brushed passed him, making their way off the landing pad. Bastila fell into step behind them, her gaze drifting to the tree branches overhanging the walkway. From what she could tell, they were who knew how many feet in the air, the entire landing pad and walkway suspended among the branches. It was an amazing architecture that could support such weight, supported by even more amazing trees, their massive trunks stretching into the sky above, and rooted deep into the ground far below. Sunlight peeked through the leaves, making them glow. It was a beautiful sight, and were the situation not so dire, Bastila would have loved to simply stop right there on the walkway and admire the view.

She only realized that she had fallen slightly behind from her Jedi entourage when Revan grabbed her by the arm. "Stay close," he said. "You can sight see later."

She nodded, mouthing an apology.

"This next part might get sticky," he said. "Czerka is rumored to be conducting some unethical, albeit 'legal' operations here. They might not take well to our mission interfering with their so-called 'business.'" He stopped, and turned her around by the arm, his gaze boring into her even through his mask. "We may have to use a show of force."

Bastila nodded. "Just please try to keep the numbers down, Revan."

"I'll do better than that. I'll keep the count at zero." He resumed his walk, and she fell into step beside him.

At last, they reached a hut that appeared to serve as the Czerka port authority. A few workers here and there were loading and unloading various crates. But that's not what caught Bastila's attention. It was the Wookiees being "processed." One of them was being led down the walkway past them, his paws chained behind his back, a neural restraining collar choking his neck. The soulful eyes looked up at her as he went by. Sad eyes. Defeated. And yet, seeing these four strangers, knowing they were Jedi, the eyes held a flicker of hope. But that hope was quickly crushed as one of the men behind him struck him in the back with his rifle, yelling at him to keep moving.

"I take it back," Bastila said in a whisper. "I don't care what the numbers are with these people."

"We're still sticking to the mission," Revan said quietly. "We don't have legal grounds to do anything."

"They're slave traders!" Bastila hissed. "_They're _the ones with no legal grounds!"

"Keep your voice down," Revan said. "I don't like it either, but they technically _do _have legal grounds. Something to do with a legal loophole regarding this planet's location. Czerka has already been to court over this, and won."

"How could...How could the Republic just..."

He squeezed her shoulder. "I know. Welcome to the underbelly of the Republic. We don't have a justice system. We have legal system. Lady justice fled our courts long ago. Are you ready?"

The entrance to the facility loomed before them. The two Jedi ahead of them were already gripping their lightsabers. Malak peered at Revan over his shoulder, his eyes silently asking if he was ready to proceed.

Revan gave a curt nod. Together, they stepped inside.

The receptionist at the desk froze. Several officials fumbled for their guns. The more professional security guards instantly drew their blasters from their holsters, aiming for the head. Even though the Jedi had not yet brandished their lightsabers, it was plain to all that they weren't there for a tour of the giant wroshyr trees.

"Please don't panic," Revan said, raising a hand in supplication. He turned his gaze to the receptionist. "And please, don't call in for backup. We're Jedi on an urgent mission for the Republic. We request the use of your facilities."

A man stepped forward—a Czerka official with clearly some clout, as his uniform did not have the stains of work on it. "We have the legitimate right to conduct our business here," he said.

Revan nodded. "It is not our intent to interfere with your business. In fact, we ask that you continue to conduct business as usual."

"You misunderstand. We also have the legitimate right to refuse your request. There is technically no Republic jurisdiction here. Czerka would prefer not entangle ourselves in your war."

Bastila sized the man up. And in an instant, she knew. The eyes betrayed everything. Yes, the truth was always to be found in the eyes. He knew the Exchange ship would be here soon. He was a part of it. No, _Czerka _was a part of it, a part of conducting business with their enemy. Who knew what kickbacks they were receiving from both the Exchange and the Mandalorians for lending the use of their port? Worse yet, who knew how many Wookiees were being sold through the Exchange, perhaps even to the Mandalorians? After all, how many Republic citizens would honestly just go out and buy a Wookiee slave from Czerka? Their market came from somewhere. And it wasn't solely in Hutt space.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and from that alone she knew Revan and the others had drawn the same conclusions.

As one, they drew their lightsabers. Everything was a blur after that. A few shots singed the air, and then all was silent. The guards were disarmed. The rest dropped their weapons, clearly not ready to die over a business arrangement. The Czerka official's hand went up in the air.

Remarkably, not a single person had been injured, the Jedi's deflection of their blaster shots, not to mention the loss of their blasters to a Force pull, being more than enough to force their surrender. Despite all her training in Jedi pseudo-pacifism, Bastila couldn't help but wish that at least a few of them had gotten what they deserved in their brief brawl. She smothered her righteous indignation, however. She had a duty to perform, and could afford no distractions.

"Perhaps you misunderstood," Revan said to the port official, his blue lightsaber menacingly pointed at the man's neck. "I wasn't making a request. We're commandeering your operations here. If you resist, you will all be arrested as enemy combatants. If you do _anything_ whatsoever to alert the Exchange vessel you very well know is en route—if you so much as _sneeze_ when they land—I'll have you in front of a military tribunal within the week, and shot in front of a firing squad before you even have a chance to file a lawsuit. Understood?"

The official nodded quickly, sweat dripping across his brow.

"Em," Revan said. "Go get your refund."

Surik's face lit up in a grin. "Yes, sir!"


	12. Chapter 12

As usual, I'm sorry it took so long. But I hope it was worth it! I've had to split this Kashyyyk chapter yet again, but I feel it works better this way. The delicious cliff-hanger at the end is the perfect breaking point. Sadly, you'll have to suffer waiting until the next chapter, unlike with a traditional novel where you can simply turn the page. My apologies in advance for the detrimental effects of serials.

By the way, if you've been subscribing to this story (and we both know who you are), please do drop me a review. I'd love to hear from you!

With no further ado...

**CHAPTER 12**

_Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit._

Bastila sat against a crate, swatting at yet another prehistoric-sized mosquito pricking at her neck. She drew her hand away from her skin to find a small trail of blood on her finger. If this was how the wildlife was so high in the trees, she could only imagine what the fabled Shadowlands held deep below. The thought made her shudder. Of course, it was possible Malak was telling tall tales to scare her. Her logical mind couldn't imagine creatures that big. Surely their circulation system couldn't handle such gravity at that size?

"Hungry, kid?" General Surik's voice cut into Bastila's thoughts. The older woman held out a food bar, still in its wrapper.

"Thanks," Bastila said. She unwrapped the bar, and took a bite. It was dry, salty fare, but it was still better than anything served up in the mess aboard the _Ravager_.

The two women shared their brief meal in silence, only periodically peeking out through the hut window overlooking the landing pad where Revan and Malak were lying in wait. It was Surik's and Bastila's duty to make sure Czerka didn't try to interfere with their operation. Over the past two hours, the control station had been nothing but compliant—and sweaty. They were all sweating and nervous, their eyes periodically shifting to catch a glance at the two Jedi overseeing them.

Bastila finished her bar, and took a swig from her canteen to wash down the dry crumbs in her mouth. She stole a glance at Surik, who had likewise finished her meal. They had fallen back into their two-hour silence. Of course, here and there they exchanged a pleasantry, but they were otherwise mutually uncomfortable with one another's company. Bastila had her own reasons for her discomfort. The most obvious one being that Surik was complicit with her "abduction." Her blind loyalty to Revan didn't help improve Bastila's opinion of her, either. But a less obvious reason was that Bastila simply didn't know how to connect, or even what to have a conversation about. Surik likewise seemed to suffer from the same problem, which did surprise Bastila somewhat, as she appeared to be very friendly with everyone else. Just not with Bastila, for whatever reason. And it had been this way between them since they'd met.

"How's your head?" Surik asked, interrupting Bastila's thoughts once more. "Need another pain reliever?"

Bastila shook her head. "No, thank you. It's much better now."

"Too bad we can't say the same for your temple, eh?"

Bastila gingerly touched her brow. The spot was still tender. She could only imagine the bruise that was there.

"Well," Surik said, "at least you don't have a concussion. Malak gave me one of those once. It was an accident, though. We were sparring. The guy doesn't know his own strength."

Bastila merely nodded. Surik, in turn, fell silent at her companion's lack of response. All right, so maybe it wasn't Surik's fault that she and Bastila didn't relate much. Bastila could at least try to be friendlier. Only, she just didn't know what to say.

A few more moments of silence went by, and this time Bastila was determined not to let another two hours go by as well without having a reasonable conversation. Unfortunately, she still had to come up with something to say. On the bright side, Surik had brought up her favorite person to vent about. Maybe they would have that in common?

"So," Bastila said hesitantly, "has Malak ever pulled a prank on you?"

A wicked grin lit up the other woman's face. "You mean like that laxative he put in your tea?"

Bastila's eyebrows shot up. "You heard about that?"

Surik shrugged her shoulders. "He likes to brag. But, yeah, he's pulled pranks on me. Care to swap pranking stories?"

Bastila grinned. Finally, progress! "Prank saber. Has he ever done that one on you?"

"Yup. Shrank my robes once in the laundry. You?"

"No, but he dyed mine pink. Along with a few dozen other crew members."

Surik winced. "Yeah, he certainly doesn't mind casualties. He's had captains and admirals chewing him out for that sort of thing. Once we were in a platoon out scouting, and had set up camp for the night. It was my turn for sentry duty, and he set up some sort of device out in the woods that emitted growling noises. I kept thinking some wild beast was out there. But no one else could supposedly hear anything. That nerf herder nearly drove me crazy."

Bastila shook her head. "Great. Something to look forward to down the road. Though I already got one of the nastiest ones yet last week."

"Oh?" Surik arched an eyebrow.

"He...somehow modified the ship map on my datapad."

"Yup. I've had that one, too. Where'd you end up?"

"The men's showers."

Surik visibly cringed.

"And I almost got flushed out an airlock trying to open a supposed 'door' down a passage."

"Thank the Force for those safety mechanisms, eh?"

"Oh, yes! A chief petty officer had to peel me away. He even advised me to stop by the med bay for a psychological examination."

Surik laughed into her hand. "I hope you did something about that? I mean, with Malak?"

"Oh, I saw Revan about it, yet again. He just told me to prank him back."

"Did you?"

"Of course not! It's not proper behavior for a Jedi."

Surik shook her head. "That's what I said. But telling yourself that won't do anything to stop it."

"Neither will retaliation."

"Oh, but it will."

"You mean to say you retaliated and he stopped pranking you?"

Surik bit her lip, as if uncertain whether to say what was on her mind. At last, she turned her gaze back to Bastila. "I'm going to let you in on something, kid, because we ladies need to stick together. Especially we aide-de-camps to Revan."

Bastila furrowed her brow, now listening intently. "You were Revan's aide?"

She nodded. "Yeah, for a little while. I was a Padawan when I joined up. Still am, technically. I had decided to pass on taking my upcoming trials and follow Revan instead. He helped me bridge the gap in knowledge. Not long after, he gave me a small command, and eventually I made General without having to take my trials."

Bastila huffed. "Revan's brash way of bypassing the proper Jedi promotions."

"Well, they don't exactly offer Revanchists a chance to take their trials. And I'm grateful that Revan makes sure the Padawans are ready for command before throwing them in head first. Acting as aides to the Generals is a good mentoring system."

"I see your point."

"You know, I envy you. It was the best learning experience I ever had, being Revan's aide. Enjoy it while you can. It'll be over in a blink."

Bastila nodded solemnly. Somehow, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of...of something. There was something about what Surik had said, the way she said it, that made Bastila...jealous? No, it couldn't be that, could it?

"Anyway," the General continued, "about that little secret?"

Bastila returned her attention at once to the subject at hand, her ears itching to take in whatever this "secret" might be.

"That altered ship map? That's not Malak's. That's Revan's."

Now Bastila's eyes widened. No, it couldn't be...

"Think about it. The pranks only happen when those two are together. And Revan's the mastermind for most of the pranks in their arsenal. If you ever want them to stop, you need to send them a message. Especially Revan, because he can convince Malak to stop rather than escalate things."

Bastila shook her head. "But revenge is not the Jedi way-"

"It isn't about revenge. Whether you like it or not, you're in a little war with them. They're hazing you into the Mercy Corp. Until you treat their behavior as the act of war it is, then the pranks will only get worse. And believe me, they can get much worse than ending up in the men's shower."

The young Padawan shivered as her imagination tried to fill in just how much worse it could get.

"But won't pranking him back just escalate things?" Bastila asked.

"Yes, a normal prank would. But what I'm saying is you should go big. Fire a warning shot across his bow. Let him know you mean business."

"But how do I do that?"

Surik laid a hand on her shoulder. "Every Padawan must find her own path. I'm afraid I took a solemn vow not to reveal any of Revan's weaknesses. You're on your own, kid. I've given you more than I was supposed to."

"What's that supposed to mean? Solemn vow?"

Surik shrugged, removing her hand from the young Padawan's shoulder. "You'll understand once you're in the club."

"The club?" Bastila could not believe what she was hearing.

"The 'inner circle', if you'd rather. Like I said, you're being hazed into the Mercy Corp. Those of us already in the club are forbidden to reveal anything compromising about Revan. He wants you to figure it out for yourself. Use your wits."

Bastila simply stared at the woman incredulously, her jaw hanging open.

"I know, it's stupid," Surik said, "but I just wanted the hazing to stop, and that was one of the conditions in our little peace treaty. I really don't want it to start up again."

Bastila wasn't sure what to say next, but was saved by the sound of a distant rumbling. The two women leaped to their feet. Yes, it was certainly a ship. The station's comm unit crackled to life, a gruff voice requesting clearance to land.

The two women eyed the Czerka official manning the comm with a stern look that warned of certain emasculation via lightsaber if he didn't give the right answer. The man picked up the commlink with a trembling hand.

"You are clear to land," the man said, his voice miraculously not betraying his nervous disposition. "Please proceed to landing pad two."

It was but moments later that Bastila heard the ship descend onto the landing pad outside. She stole a quick glance out the hut window to see a freighter. It was their target. It had to be.

She heard the snap hiss of a lightsaber, and at once her attention was drawn back to Surik. The older woman slashed into the comm unit, the Czerka officials staggering back in fright.

"Come on, kid," she said. "Let's give our two pranksters a hand."

Bastila couldn't help but get the feeling that several of the Czerka officials would have taken the chance to shoot them in the back just then if they hadn't already been disarmed. She shook the disturbing thought from her mind, and focused on keeping pace with the General. One dash across a wooden bridge, and they were on the landing pad. Blaster shots sizzled through the air. Revan and Malak had already jumped into the fray, blocking their foes' retreat back up the ship boarding ramp.

Several of the men, hunched behind whatever cover they could find, turned to see Bastila and Surik, and jumped to their feet. Bastila's twin blades ignited, deflecting a flurry of shots. Surik lunged a few paces ahead of her to engage two of the men. The third man charged Bastila, tossing aside his repeater and unsheathing a short vibroblade. But before she could so much as lift her lightsaber to block or strike, the man threw something to the ground.

A flash of light. Stinging eyes. Then darkness.

Bastila reeled, wildly swung her blade even as she tried in vain to see.

Something rushed at her.

There was little time to react. Her lightsaber swept upward just in time to deflect a heavy blow. Before she could make another move, a leg swept through hers, tripping her in mid-stride. Her lightsaber tumbled from her hands as she tried to break her fall. She rolled onto her back just in time to see through blurry tears a vibroblade arcing toward her neck.

_Bastila_. Her name. Someone calling it out.

She rolled to the side, the Force blasting the vibroblade away with a flick of her hand.

Her lightsaber. _Where?_

Her hand felt the cold, cylindrical object. She leaped to her feet, her blade reigniting, pointing it at her attacker's throat.

She could see the man's dilated pupils, each drop of sweat dripping from his brow, the expansion of his chest in a deep breath, the raw fear...He was young. Too young. Why wasn't he studying in school? That's what normal people his age did, didn't they?

Bastila froze, hesitating to deliver a final blow.

She watched as the young man's lips purse together tightly, his knees bending, his arm stretching out toward the repeater that lay but a few feet away from him.

"Don't," Bastila pleaded, shaking her head.

But that only made the young man reach faster.

A flurry of shots fired. Deflected. Blade swinging.

Then the young man fell to his knees, a deep slash in his chest. She didn't even remember...

Her lightsaber tumbled to the ground, her eyes staring down at her hands in shock. A blaster shot whizzed past her head, but she paid it no heed. Neither did she notice the explosion of another flash grenade.

She heard her name called again. Then someone collided into her, shoving her into the ground. Revan.

"Stay down!" he shouted, even more shots singing the air above them, his body pressed atop her back as a shield. Now there was turret fire from the ship blanketing the landing pad.

The gravity of the situation at last brought her to her senses, but that didn't stop her lips from quivering.

"Are you all right?" Revan said, his mask pressed against her ear.

Bastila nodded.

"I want you to crawl behind those crates. Do you understand?"

She nodded again. "I-I'm so sorry. I-"

"Get behind the crates. Go."

At last, Revan shifted his weight, and rose to his feet, his lightsaber blocking shots aimed in their direction. Bastila obediently crawled behind the crates but a few paces away. She rose to sit, leaning against them as she took shaky breaths.

More blaster and turret fire lit the air, and a few shots singed the other side of the crates. Cautiously, she peeked her head over them.

Malak was charging up the ship ramp. More blaster fire sounded from inside the ship. Surik was finishing off an attacker, a deep gash in her leg. Revan was finishing off another. A small droid, its pistol attachment firing, rolled up to Revan. The Jedi blocked the shot, but didn't block the volt of electricity that jolted from the droid. Revan yelped more in anger than in pain, and sent a wave of energy toward the droid, throwing it over the ledge and into the Shadowlands far below.

Suddenly, all fell silent. Bastila rose to her feet, her hands still shaking. Try as she might, she could not get her heart rate to slow, and she found herself clutching her hands together to hide their trembling.

Both Surik and Revan turned to her.

"Are you all right?" Revan asked again.

Bastila's mind went blank. She wrung her hands, still shaking, and somehow managed a nod.

Surik looked unconvinced, but before either of them could say anything, Malak stepped out of the ship and sauntered down the ramp.

"The ship is secure, Master," Malak said.

Revan turned to him and nodded. "Did you find the codes?"

Malak shook his head. "Nothing on the computer."

Revan strode over to one of the bodies—a man, still alive, and clutching the gaping lightsaber hole in his stomach. Revan knelt beside him, his mask staring down at him silently.

"Y-you don't think...that...I'd..." the man trailed off, erupting in rasping laughter.

Revan merely rolled his lightsaber hilt between his hands menacingly.

"What?" The man rasped, still laughing. "Are you going to torture me, _Jedi?_"

And for a brief moment, Bastila thought he actually might. Instead, Revan began laughing with him.

"No, of course not," Revan said. "What would be the point? You're a Mandalorian."

This information was too much for Bastila to process. "What do you mean, he's a Mandalorian?"

"I mean exactly what I said," Revan replied, still staring down at the bloodied soldier beneath him.

"But he's just a common thug!"

"A common thug with Mandalorian toys?" Malak said. "Those flash grenades aren't cheap. And Mandalorians are the few non-Force sensitives who can stand toe-to-toe with a Jedi."

Surik nodded in agreement. "Let alone _four_ Jedi."

The Mandalorian fell into another bout of laughter. "I'll...I'll tell you what you...want to know, Revanchist, since you have bested me."

Revan snorted. "Keep your honor to yourself. I won't think any better of you."

"Thats...all right," he rasped, breathing heavily, his eyes becoming more vacant. "I thought...you...would be _taller_." He laughed again, and fell into a fit of coughing, blood covering his lips.

"I get that a lot," Revan said.

"But you...haven't really...bested me." Another fit of laughter and coughing.

"Master," Malak said, "this is a waste of time."

Revan rose to his feet in silent agreement, clipping his lightsaber to his belt and stepping away from the near corpse.

But Revan didn't have to walk too far before the Mandalorian spoke one last time. "It's...it's...you...threw it off the ledge. Fool!" Another bout of rasping laughter, this time more subdued. At last, silence.

Revan just stood there, frozen.

Malak interrupted the silence. "What the Corellian hells did he mean by that?"

Revan's hand smacked his mask, a curse escaping his lips. "The blasted droid!"

Surik's face visibly paled. As one, all four Jedi rushed to the landing pad ledge, peering down into the deep shadows below. Of course, Bastila could make out nothing. Except she swore she saw some sort of beast flying below amid the tree branches. Or was it some sort of giant spider dangling from its web? Whatever it was, it made her shiver.

"If they won't tell you out of honor, they'll tell you out of spite," Revan muttered.

"Well," Malak said, "this mission is a bust."

"Oh no it isn't!" Revan said, still peering down into the thick blackness.

"No. I am _not_ going down _there_."

Revan turned to the taller man. Bastila found it rather comical that the great Revanchist had to look up to meet his friend's gaze.

"I thought you said you'd follow me anywhere," Revan said, crossing his arms. "Coward!"

Malak crossed his arms as well, leaning menacingly into Revan's personal space. "Say that to my face," he growled.

"I just did!"

"No, you didn't. Let me get you a crate to stand on."

"Fine. But we're still going."

"Make your pet Padawan go. It can count for her trials."

Revan snorted. "She'll be eaten in ten seconds."

"And you'll last twenty. What's the difference?"

"That's why we're all going." Revan turned to Surik. "Except _you_. You're injured."

Surik shook her head. "It's just a scratch. I'm not even limping."

"I don't want anything down there catching the scent of your blood."

"Hello! We just captured a ship full of kolto!"

"There's blood all over your clothes, and we don't have time to waste while you heal yourself. I'm not going to argue this with you."

"Yes, sir," Surik said, a slight frown on her face.

"Besides," Revan said, "someone's got to keep an eye on Czerka. Disable whatever is left of their comm dish. I don't want them getting sneaky and sending out distress calls."

"Yes, sir."

The four Jedi began walking away from the ledge, Bastila trailing behind Revan. Surik, contrary to her claims, had a slight limp. But that didn't stop her from catching up to Revan.

"Sir," Surik said, Bastila overhearing. "Are you sure your Padawan is up to this?"

"I'm right here, you know," Bastila said, blood rushing to her cheeks.

"She'll be fine," Revan said, ignoring her. "We need all the hands we can get down there."

"She'll be eaten."

Bastila did not like all this talk of her being eaten.

"No, she won't," Revan said, his pace slowing to walk alongside Bastila. "Because," he said, putting an arm around her stiff shoulders, "we'll feed Malak to them first while we run away."

Surik's bark of laughter was only matched by Malak's deep scowl.

**.:.**

Revan peered into the shadows, his eyes searching for any sign that they would touch ground, his mind deep in thought. It hadn't taken long for them to reach the Wookiee village, let alone to figure out a way to reach the planet surface. Revan had been quite pleased to learn, after he had ripped the furry species' language from their minds with the Force, that they had an elevator to the surface, daring hunters that they were. At least, that was what his mind had translated into Basic for him.

It was more of a lift, in actuality. A very rickety, shaky one. Every bump made his stomach lurch a bit. Staring down into the depths of the trees only served to add vertigo to his list of complaints. But he willed himself to stare down nonetheless, his mind determined to master his body's intolerance to dizzying heights.

And so, as the Wookiee's mighty arms slowly let loose the rope to lower the lift—Zaalbar, he thought his name was—Revan disciplined his mind to think of other things. The Mandalorians, for one. It disturbed him that they were working so closely with the Exchange as to actually command one of Davik Kang's ships. But with such an expensive shipment of kolto, he couldn't blame them for exercising such control. And he doubted that Kang had much say in the matter, with Taris being under Mandalorian rule. Not all of the men they had fought were Mandalorians, of course. But enough of them were. Enough of them to make Revan wonder how much of the criminal underworld—the very one the Republic had ignored for so long—the Mandalorians had usurped. The sheer number of contacts, hyperspace lanes, and monetary resources they would have at their disposal...

"What are we really up against?," he murmured to his silent companion. "On how many fronts must we fight?"

His friend gripped his arm in reassurance. "Hey. What's a few thugs?"

Revan shook his head, at last turning his gaze from the depths below and fixing it on Malak. "It's more than that. Crime flourishes in the Republic because those who supposedly uphold the law do nothing—whether due to fear or corruption. The Mandalorians aren't far from being able to influence our own government."

Malak released his grip, and stared down over the ledge, a deep scowl on his face. Revan joined him, both sharing a brooding silence.

Malak at last broke it. "So," he said in a low whisper, "what's wrong with Princess Padawan?"

"Hm?" Revan tilted his masked head up.

"She doesn't look..._well_."

"She did say you make her sick."

"Revan..."

He heaved a sigh. "She...had a rough fight up there."

"Ah."

"Just don't tease her. Try to keep her mind off it."

"Maybe you should give her one of your inspiring pep talks."

Revan snorted. "She's immune to them. Otherwise she would have joined us a long time ago."

"So that's why you like her."

Revan cocked his head. "Pardon?"

"She doesn't put up with your Bantha fodder."

The Jedi snickered. "Doesn't mean I like her."

"Admit the obvious," Malak said, crossing his arms.

"She's my Padawan!" Revan hissed.

"Then get her knighted. Problem solved."

Revan rolled his eyes under his mask, shaking his head. For once, he was glad he wore a mask just to hide what he was sure were reddened cheeks. For all his hard exterior in the face of battle, his friend always managed to find his softer side and exploit it.

"You know it's not that simple," Revan said.

Malak smirked. "You may hold to the Code, but I don't. If you won't make a move..."

"Don't you dare," Revan said in a low growl. "She's still my Padawan. And Master Sunrider will feed you to a Sarlacc for it."

"I'd like to see her try."

"So would I," Revan said with a hidden grin.

"Very funny."

"And I never said I liked her. Not like..._that_."

"But you _do _like her. I know it."

"And just how would you know such a thing?"

"The same way I knew you had a crush on Nomi Sunrider."

"I was eight. That was different."

"So? You haven't changed _that_ much."

"Oh, never mind! I'll go talk to her. Talking with you gets me nowhere."

"Yeah, go _comfort_her," Malak said with a wink.

"Shut up," Revan said with the slight rasp of laughter.

He stepped away from the ledge, and took a few short paces to where Bastila stood—as far away from Malak as anyone could manage on so small a lift. Despite the short distance, he doubted she had heard any of their whispered conversation, so engrossed she seemed to be with staring down into the blackness below. He gently laid a hand on her shoulder.

Startled, she looked up at him.

"Are you all right?" he said.

She nodded, her eyes drifting downward and refusing to make contact with his. Staring down at her hands, he noted.

"I'm sorry," she said, still staring at her hands. "I froze. I...It won't happen again."

"You've never killed anyone before."

She nodded again, taking a deep breath.

He patted her shoulder. "Don't worry. It won't feel like that every time. It gets...easier."

She sighed, looking up at him briefly. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Her words stung. He knew they weren't meant to, but they did nonetheless. He fell silent, staring back down over the ledge alongside her. Only, now he thought he could see ground at last. A few moments later, and the lift gently touched the muddy surface.

They filed off one by one. Zaalbar, however, notably remained on the lift.

Revan stopped and turned toward him. "Will you not be hunting with us?" he asked.

The furry beast growled a string of syllables. The reply sent a shiver down his spine.

"What did he say?" Bastila asked.

"He says someone has to stay and guard the lift."

"Will he be all right by himself?"

"The real question is, will _we_ be all right together?"

Malak turned on his torch. "This way," he said bravely—though Revan knew Malak was as jittery as he was. "It should have fallen roughly north of here."

They followed him, lighting their own torches. Their lightsabers were at the ready. The only sounds were those of twigs snapping beneath their feet, or the slush of mud sucking slightly at their boots. That, and the occasional howl of some beast, or the flapping of wings, or buzzing of insects. And it was dark. So very dark. The irony being it was technically daylight.

Which was something he had omitted in conveying the Wookiee's words to Bastila—Zaalbar would not wait for them past sundown.

The minutes ticked by. Every now and then, they heard the rustle of leaves, or perhaps a low growl. They took pause each time, listening. But time was against them. It was already afternoon. Revan drove them onward. It was slow going, for they could not head directly north. Great tree roots and even greater tree trunks barred their way.

At last, after nearly two hours of scouring the ground and winding through the trees, they came across the gleam of metal buried in the mud. A droid part. Another part lay a few feet away from that. And another. And another. Small ones. Large ones.

"Pick up all of it," Revan said. "I'll keep watch."

The other two silently dug through the mud, searching for every last part. Nothing could be missed, lest it be the one piece with the codes they needed hidden within. One by one, his companions packed the parts into their packs, and into his as well.

Revan's eyes scanned through the blackness. A fog had settled into their nook between the trees. And something..._else_. He'd sensed it from the moment they'd landed. Something..._dark_. And the deeper they had moved into the forest, the stronger it became. Like a homing beacon. It was close. Close enough for him to feel its eyes. Only, it didn't have eyes. Instinctively, he knew it wasn't sentient. It was the Force. The dark side. And it was thick down hear. One part of him screamed to flee to the lift, but another—his more curious side—told him to face his fear. But it was more than curiosity. For wherever the dark side dwelt, the light was nearby to oppose it.

But there was something else here. Such dark places attracted many dark things. Revan could feel eyes watching him. Malevolent eyes. His own eyes searched the shadows.

One shadow in particular stood out ever so slightly. Beneath a tangle of giant tree roots. The shadow seemed to shift, if only a little. They were being stalked.

A low growl—so low it could have easily been mistaken for a breeze humming between the trees. Except there was no breeze. Revan's eyes narrowed, though the shadow did not move any further. Instinctively, he knew that growl was a challenge.

"Master," Bastila said. "There's a part missing. The central chassis that stores the core processing unit and neural memory."

"It will most likely have the codes we need," Malak quipped.

Revan continued to stare at the shadow, his gaze never leaving it. "Do you see tracks?" he asked.

"Yes," Malak said. "Large ones. They lead this way."

Revan reflexively turned his head to see where Malak pointed. It was quite a different direction. He snapped his head back, cursing himself inwardly for removing his gaze, even if but for a moment.

The shadow was gone.

"We're going this way," Revan said, nodding towards where the shadow had been.

"But the tracks lead-"

"I know. But that's not where our missing part ultimately ended up."

"I don't understand," Bastila said.

"Something's been watching us," Revan said, turning to them both. "From that direction. I think it's the same thing that took our part."

Malak shook his head. "But how could we know for sure?"

"Because my gut tells me," Revan said, steely determination in his voice. "Whatever has been watching us is intelligent. And malevolent. Can't you feel it?"

Bastila bit her lip, and then nodded slowly. "Yes, I've felt it. There is something dark down here."

"My guess is our part is where it is darkest. And it is darkest in that direction."

"I should never have sworn to follow you anywhere," Malak muttered.

Revan snickered. "Next time, my friend, you should be more precise regarding your terms and conditions."

They moved out, staying close together, their lightsabers at the ready. Whatever was out there, Revan would meet it. In fact, he knew he was _meant_ to meet it. Born for this very purpose, this moment. He only hoped he and his companions were meant to survive it.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: All right, my readers. This is the first really scary scene I've ever written, and I need your help. If you would, please review this chapter, answering the following questions:

1. In your opinion, what was the best part of the scene? Why?

2. Did any part of the scene fall flat? If so, why?

Answering these questions helps me write future scary scenes better. Thanks!

Also, if you are a follower who has never reviewed before, please do drop me a note. I'd very much appreciate hearing from you. Think of it this way: If every follower of this story consistently reviewed every chapter, I'd have roughly 100 followers x 13 chapters = 1300 reviews for this story. So many reviews, in turn, would cause even more readers to follow, since the story would appear to be worth reading. More readers and more feedback = more encouragement for me to write. We writers could use the encouragement. It helps us get past things like writers block and intimidatingly blank pages.

For those of you who are always so kind to post reviews, thank you so much. It means a lot to me.

**CHAPTER 13**

_Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit._

Indentations in the mud. Crunched leaves, partially buried. And now blood.

At first it was just a trickle on a rock here and on a twig there. Then there were splatters of it across the tree trunks and low-hanging branches. Signs of a struggle were everywhere—deep claw marks dragging into the ground or across the trees.

Bastila's pulse quickened with each step, her flaring nostrils taking in a sickly sweet scent. No small creature could bleed that much. Whatever their quarry had killed and dragged into the tangled woods had been a mighty beast, judging by the size of the claw marks. What lay unspoken among the three Jedi was that their quarry wanted them to follow. And so their senses only heightened as they foraged through the dark forest. Their pace slowed as they went. Every twig snap, every flutter of wings made them halt to listen. Try as she might, Bastila could only hear her own breathing, her own pulse pounding in her ears.

At last, they came to a clearing. Revan held out a hand, signaling them to stop. Bastila's eyes narrowed, peering into the shadows. The blood trail ended at a mangled lump. She held her torch up higher.

The beam shook as she studied the lump, bloodied, mauled...and still breathing. She felt Revan's gloved hand close around her wrist, lowering her shaking hand, as well as the shaking torch with it.

"What is that?" Bastila whispered.

"You mean what _was_ that?" Malak said.

"I think I see a tail," Revan said. "It might be some sort of katarn."

The lump thrashed, organs bubbling up more blood. Bastila tried to swallow, but found she had no saliva with which to accomplish the feat.

"It's...it's still alive," she breathed. "What sort of creature would leave their prey to suffer like this?"

"It wasn't hunting for food," Revan said. "It was hunting for sport."

"Seems to be doing the same to us," Malak said, a scowl deepening on his face. "It's toying with us."

"Whatever it is, we should put this poor creature out of its misery," Bastila said.

Revan nodded, and stepped into the clearing. Malak followed, his eyes scanning for any threat. Bastila lingered but a moment, hesitating. She glanced behind her, back the way they had come. Nothing. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, her lightsaber slipping in her grip ever so slightly from the sweat of her palm, even as she gripped it more tightly.

The poor creature let out a tortured whimper as she neared, its thrashing now turning to shivering. The sickly sweet smell of blood grew even stronger, and Bastila had to hold her breath to keep from vomiting.

Revan ignited his lightsaber, his head bowed. "Rest, noble beast."

At a flick of his wrist, the shivering stopped. The only sounds were the distant chirps of insects, and the flapping of mynock wings.

"The tracks lead this way," Malak said at last. "Into that cave." He pointed his torch toward a rocky slope of the hillside. Great tree roots dug deep into the ground there. Between two such great roots was a deep crevice burrowing into the hill.

Bastila's breath hitched in her throat. It felt as though the gaping maw was staring back at her.

She turned her gaze away, though that left only the mangled corpse and her two companions to look at. She chose the latter.

"It's a trap," Bastila said.

"I know," Revan said. He stepped toward the cave's mouth, his lightsaber still ignited and at the ready. He stopped, his torch lighting the depths within, but to little avail. "There's only enough room for us to go in single file," he said. "It will pick us off one by one. From behind, perhaps, or from the front. Or from an angle we least expect."

"Then we're agreed," Bastila said. "We should head back for help."

Revan kept his gaze on the cave mouth. "On the contrary. We're going in. If we turn back now, it will be too late by the time we find the part, if we find it at all."

"This is madness!" Bastila hissed. "Someone is bound to get hurt, if not killed. We don't even know what we're up against."

"The dark side," Malak whispered in a low growl, his eyes peering into the cave shadows.

For once, Bastila thought the big oaf to have demonstrated some wisdom. "Precisely," she said. "Which is why we should turn back now."

"It won't stop hunting us," Revan said, his masked eyes never leaving the cave.

Bastila believed him. She didn't want to, but she knew truth when she heard it. She tore her gaze from Revan, and stared into the cave, past the light of the torch beam, and deep into the shadows. Two red pricks stared back at her. Malevolent. Intelligent. She blinked, and they disappeared.

"It's in there," she breathed.

"I know," Revan murmured.

"It will be nightfall in two hours," Malak said. "We need to hurry, or else we'll have even more beasts hunting us."

Revan moved forward once more, deftly picking his way amongst the roots and rocks, his eyes never leaving the cave mouth. Malak fell into step, with Bastila trailing behind. Then Malak stopped and steered her in front of him.

"Stay between us," he said.

For the first time, Bastila truly respected the man. He had far more courage than she did. With a tight smile, she nodded, and fell into step behind Revan. Both Bastila and Malak ignited their lightsabers, hooking their torches to their belts. Revan kept his torch on, using the beam to peer ahead as far as he could.

Her breathing heavy, Bastila stepped into the cave. It was so narrow that she only had room to ignite one side of her double blade. Even then, she had to hold it carefully so as not to accidentally stab Revan with it.

They picked their way slowly as the tunnel wound into the hillside. Great roots and vines dangled from the ceiling.

Crunching.

Bastila cursed her curiosity as her eyes shifted to the ground. Bones. Everywhere. An almost human-like skull—a Wookiee skull. Bile crept up her throat. It was a lair. They were in its kriffing lair.

But they pressed on without mentioning it, their ears straining to hear the slightest noise above the crunching and hum of their lightsabers. At last, they came to a fork in the tunnel. Revan halted, shining his torch into each path. The one to the right was narrow. Far narrower than the left. So narrow that they would barely squeeze through. Fortunately, the tracks led down the wider tunnel to the left. Revan followed.

Bastila took a deep, trembling breath, trying to calm herself, and stepped after him. Everything screamed _trap_, and Bastila didn't know how to get out of it.

The darkness was suffocating, despite the torchlight. It was as though it had materialized, choking her airways. It was like breathing in thick air on a sweltering, humid summer day. Only, though there was some degree of humidity, there was no extreme heat. But sweat beaded her brow nonetheless. She had the urge to wipe the sweat from her palms, but didn't dare release her grip from her lightsaber.

Thumping.

Was that the thump of footsteps, or her own heart?

Dirt from the ceiling sifted into her eye. She stopped, blinking the dust away. More dirt. Gravel. Another thump. All three Jedi froze. The only sound was their breathing.

And something else breathing. A low growl.

Revan's low whisper nearly matched that growl. "No one move," he said. "It's above us."

He was right. He was always right. And as usual she wished he were wrong. She could feel its presence. It _was_ the air she was breathing—the thick, choking air that felt like burning sulfur in her lungs. Its dark aura radiated from atop the hillside down into the earth, pressing in on them. She swore she would be buried alive by it.

Her eyes scanned the ceiling. There had to be a hole or some sort of shaft for them to hear the beast. Certainly, the ceiling was thin here, more a tangle of roots that had burrowed into the rock. Yes, she could see crevices, vines and roots dangling from the edges.

Heavy crunching, more dirt falling into her eyes. Then silence.

She released a choked breath. It was gone.

Revan was the first to move. He inched his way further into the tunnel, his companions following. A few steps more, and the tunnel widened. Revan halted once more, and Bastila peered over his shoulder as his torch scanned what appeared to be a cavern.

It was empty, but for more bones. Mounds and mounds of bones, of all shapes and sizes. Their missing droid lay in a small valley in the midst of it all.

Revan aimed his torch for the ceiling, looking for any opening. Nothing. The beam lowered, settling on another tunnel opening off to the side, perhaps the very tunnel that forked off from theirs. The shadows were deep against Revan's torch and lightsaber, and deeper still in the other tunnel beyond.

"I'm going in," Revan said. "Stay back."

Bastila gripped his shoulder, almost pleadingly.

Revan turned his head over his shoulder briefly. She was sure his face was stern and determined behind his mask.

"This is the part where we get picked off one by one," Malak whispered. He turned his gaze and his torch to keep vigil on the tunnel behind them.

Bastila shuddered. Despite his sarcasm, Malak was right. But Revan stepped forward heedlessly, turning off his torch and clipping it to his belt, his lightsaber at the ready. Bastila turned on her own torch, aiming its beam to focus on the droid part. Slowly, Revan inched into the cavern, stepping over a dip in a mound, and bent down to retrieve their prize, bones snapping beneath his feet.

Revan hesitated, peering into the thick shadows around him, his lightsaber humming as it swept through the air.

Bastila could feel a presence. Her mouth went dry. It was in there, with Revan. Revan had to have sensed it. She watched as he tensed, his gaze scanning the deep shadows of the other tunnel opening, his lightsaber sweeping once more, the blue light chasing away the barest of shadows. Her own torch beam swept past more bones. But mostly, it only served to create more shadows.

At last, Revan snatched the droid part, tucked the chassis under his arm, and rose to his feet. He started toward Bastila, his back facing her as he retreated, his eyes still scanning the cavern.

The mound nearest Bastila shifted, bones rattling. Her torch instantly snapped away from Revan. Then the mound rose, the bones rolling away like a waterfall off a cliff. And another mound. And another. She realized they had never been mounds, but one great mound, with many humps.

A great shadow rose before her, blocking out everything else. A deep roar shattered what little serenity she had. The trap was sprung.

In the short moment Bastila stood frozen in terror, the light of her torch caught sight of many things. Great fangs. Multiple rows of teeth. Talons that could span her entire hand. Red eyes. Raw hatred burned in those terrible eyes, and those eyes were examining her.

_No, it can't be_. She had heard tales of such beasts. At night, when she was young, before the apprentices were sent to bed. The rare time that Master Vrook would ever tell her and the other younglings a story, if only to frighten them into brushing their teeth.

Jedi killers, they called them. _Terentateks_. Rancors mutated by the dark side, so legend said. Immune to Force powers. But they couldn't exist. Not anymore. Not after the Great Hunt to exterminate them.

Yet the thing of legend was staring her in the face.

"Don't move," Malak whispered from behind. He had no need to tell her that. She had no willpower to so much as flinch under the beast's paralyzing gaze.

The creature tensed, a low hiss escaping between its clenched teeth. Her torch beam was shaking, flittering along its yellowed teeth, its light reflecting off drool. It's thick neck tensed to strike.

She was going to die.

And just as she was sure the beast would open its slathering jaws and chomp her in two, she heard the hum of a lightsaber. The beast snapped its head around with a shrill howl.

"Run!" Revan yelled.

But Bastila couldn't move.

Malak's hand tugged at her arm. "Move, princess!"

He dragged her a few paces before she tore away. She couldn't leave him to that...that _thing_.

"Revan!" But her voice was lost in the Terentatek's hellish roar.

Her lightsaber struck into its backside. Nothing. Its thick hide absorbed the heat. Its head snapped around to face her. It charged.

A limb punched into her chest. She fell back, her head hitting the ground.

Pain. Pinpricks of light. Couldn't breath.

Teeth.

Survival instincts kicked in, coupled with years of training. She sent a wave of Force energy toward those slathering jaws.

Nothing.

No, not nothing. Its breathing...Deep bellows of air. It was..._laughing_.

_How?_

She was going to die.

But Malak still had his wits. She felt the Force energy before she saw the effects. Rocks. Dirt. The ceiling was caving in on her. And on it.

A pair of arms were lifting her, a voice yelling at her to run. All she saw were those massive jaws, howling in rage as the beast was buried in rock.

"Come on!" Malak said, half dragging her, even as she stumbled to keep up.

"Revan," Bastila said, dazed. "What about Revan?"

"I can only save one person at a time, princess!"

She kept one foot in front of the other. Her head was swimming. So dizzy. The ground was shaking. Or was it the ceiling?

Claws tore through the tunnel roof, nearly taking off their heads.

"Get down!" Malak said, dragging her to the floor with him.

A head followed the claws, and then the rest of its massive body.

They half-crawled backward on their hands, and half-staggered to their feet to get away. But it was no use. There were two of them, and they were caught between.

From behind, the first one was writhing under the rocks, pinned, its free hand stretching out to them, as if willing to grasp them even from a distance. In front, the other was advancing, one pounding step at a time.

Now they were _both_ going to die.

"I want you to run," Malak said, his eyes never leaving the Terentatek ahead of them.

"Run where?"

"I'll distract it. Just run past it when I do."

Bastila shook her head. "No, I'm not leaving you behind as well."

"I'll be right behind you." He jumped to his feet, his lightsaber swinging. "Go!"

With that, he charged ahead, leaving her no other option. No, she would not—_could_ not—waste his sacrifice. She staggered to her feet, her head still swimming, bracing herself to run like a sprinter.

She watched as the two combatants closed in on each other. A blur of claws raked out. A lightsaber arced. She pushed off in a sprint. Claws. She ducked, diving beneath a massive forearm. Past Malak. Her shoulder brushed against the creature's skin. A tail flicked, shoving her into the tunnel wall. Her arm burned where the rock scraped through her clothing. But she ignored all of it, her hands grabbing the wall for balance, her legs carrying her to the tunnel beyond.

But Malak didn't follow.

She reeled around. A blinding light flashed. Arms shoved her. "Go!" Malak. She ran in the direction he'd shoved her, straining to see past the pinpricks cluttering her vision.

"Faster!"

"I can't see!"

"Just keep going!"

She thought she could make out the tunnel wall now. A deep roar bellowed behind them. She wasn't the only one recovering her sight.

Another voice. "This way!" It was Revan's.

Stomping from behind. Closer. She felt Malak grab her arm. They turned sharply into the other tunnel from earlier. Bastila squeezed between the narrow walls, Malak one step ahead. But the Terentatek followed, slamming into the entrance. The rock wall crumbled with the impact. She felt a set of snapping teeth punch into her backside. Bastila fell to her hands and knees. She crawled, a frustrated howl following her. Then nothing.

It disappeared.

"Quickly," she heard Revan say. "The tunnel widens into its lair. There's a gap to the outside up ahead. We need to get out before it gets in."

Bastila stood, her legs wobbling from adrenaline. She could make out the outline of Malak's backside, and a lit torch beyond that. She had to keep her head down at first, the ceiling being low. Vines and roots tangled their way. They walked sideways to squeeze between the walls.

Within moments, the tunnel widened, and they were able to spread out more freely.

"The exit is up ahead," Revan said.

But Malak was slowing down ahead of her. He was limping, clutching his side. Bastila came alongside him. "You're hurt."

In the dim light of Revan's torch, she could see deep gashes running across his ribs, through his clothing and armor. Sweat beaded his brow. He looked ready to collapse if she so much as breathed on him. Malak's eyes clothes. He sank to his knees.

"Revan!" Bastila called out.

She knelt and grabbed Malak's free arm, wrapping it around her shoulder. Malak dazedly leaned in on her. Far too much weight.

But Revan was already there, grabbing Malak's other arm.

"Come on, old friend," he said. "You can make it. It's just a few more steps." They lifted him together. The man's eyes fluttered open, his legs bracing in determination.

"You act as though it won't follow us outside," Bastila said, her legs already walking forward once more, even as Malak's dragging slowed them down.

"Well, what do you suggest we do?" Revan said. "Give up and let it eat us?"

He had a point. But then again... "We need to kill it."

"You go right ahead. Let me know how it works out."

She held her tongue, focusing on the next step forward.

"We can't kill it in its own cave," Revan said. "We need it in the open. Away from this death trap."

A low growl interrupted their bickering. It was ahead of them now.

But so was the way out. Revan's torch lit a great crack in the wall, where the tunnel curved back towards the main cavern.

The tunnel shook. Footsteps. It was coming.

"Run," Revan said.

Bastila pulled Malak with all her might. Malak himself pushed off the ground with his feet, adrenaline vanquishing his sluggishness.

A massive form shadowed around the bend. Bastila tugged harder on Malak's arm, willing him to go faster.

A few more steps.

Claws.

"Leave him and go!" Revan shouted.

She dove through the opening, rolling down the hill. From behind, Revan shoved Malak out, running right behind him.

And the beast tumbled down the hillside with them.

Rolling. Scraping. Then the ground flattened. She hit something hard, stopping her descent. She strained to get up. Lifted her head. Sat up against hard metal.

It was right on top of them. Malak was face down a few paces up the hill. Revan had drawn his lightsaber. Was standing over him. The beast would surely run him over.

The grinding of metal. Laser fire. A howl of rage.

The beast retreated, backing away up the hill, its red eyes never leaving them.

Then it vanished into the shadows.

Bastila's gazed turned to the source of the laser fire.

A battle droid. Rusty. Old.

But what made her jump to her feet was the flicker of a hologram behind her. Alien. Large, searching eyes. A foreign tongue speaking to her.

The battle droid's weaponry shifted in her direction. The hologram expected an answer. And they would surely die if they gave the wrong one.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Thank you, everyone, for the reviews! They really help me grow as a writer. So keep 'em coming! I can't think of any special questions to ask for this chapter, but I'm sure you'll come up with good insights for me. Thanks again!

**CHAPTER 14**

_Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit._

Revan's head snapped away from the retreating Terentatek, only to find himself facing yet another danger.

The battle droid's weaponry shifted from Bastila to him in response.

"Wait!" he said. "We're not a threat!" Slowly, he lowered his lightsaber and torch to the ground, the droid's weaponry shifting to follow his movement. He then untucked the droid chassis from under his arm, gently laying it down.

The alien hologram began spewing a mishmash of syllables. Revan slowly stood from his crouch, raising his hands in supplication, his brow knitting beneath his mask as he tried to make sense of the strange language.

Even as he rose, Revan could hear the droid charging another round.

More alien gibberish.

"I don't understand you," Revan said.

The syllables changed. But not by much.

"I don't understand that either."

Another stream of syllables, but this time more familiar. But not Basic. It was obscure. Archaic, even. But close enough to Selkath for him to understand it.

It wanted them to answer a security question.

"I understand," Revan said with a nod, "but we're not a threat."

The hologram paid him no heed. It clearly didn't understand Basic, and Revan wasn't about to attempt to speak Selkath. He'd likely get them both shot if he tried. And the last time he did try to pronounce that mucous-ridden language, a Selkath on Manaan thought he was trying to rob him.

Instead, the hologram alien was replaced with an image. Revan glanced at Bastila, who was seated at the base of the terminal, her hands likewise held up non-threateningly.

More images swept through the hologram in quick succession, and more guttural Selkath syllables poured out to explain them.

_Select the answer._

_Thirty seconds._

"I think it wants us to select one of the images," Bastila said.

"You understand Selkath?" Revan asked, stepping toward the terminal with his hands still raised.

"A little."

Revan studied the images. A rainforest. An ocean. Rolling hills. A volcano erupting. All rotating in quick succession.

_Twenty seconds._

"Any ideas?" Revan said.

"Just pick one!"

"If we pick the wrong one, we're dead."

_Ten seconds._

"Ocean?" Revan asked. "It's the only one that doesn't have land."

Bastila nodded.

_Five seconds._

Revan lifted his hand, readying it to select the ocean when it next appeared.

_Two seconds._

The ocean materialized.

"Wait!" Bastila said, bolting to her feet, and grabbing his wrist.

_Security protocols reactivated._

The ocean changed to the image of erupting lava. Bastila snapped her hand into it.

_Security protocols deactivated. Limited access granted._

Both Jedi released a held breath as the droid lowered its weaponry.

Revan looked at Bastila. "How did you know?"

"It's the only one that's uninhabitable."

He nodded, and turned to Alek, who lay in the mud but a few paces behind them. Revan rushed to his friend, kneeling as he turned him over onto his back. "Alek?"

His eyes fluttered somewhat—his only response.

Revan tore off his mask, throwing back his hood. Across from him, Bastila was already peeling off Alek's armor and shirt.

Blood on his gauntlets. He ripped them off. No, he couldn't think about his friend. It was someone else. Had to be someone else.

He reached for his med kit. Blasted zipper. Always stuck. Kolto. Need a cloth.

Revan unwrapped his sash from his waist and poured the kolto on it. His hands shook as they pressed the cloth against his friend's bloodied stomach.

"He's been poisoned," Bastila said. "His wounds aren't even that deep."

"I know," Revan said. "We need to sit him up. Keep the affected area below his heart."

Bastila nodded. Together, they dragged Alek to the computer terminal, hoisting him up to sit against its base. Bastila's hands took over pressing the cloth to his wounds.

Alek groaned, lifting his head, his eyes fluttering fully open.

"Alek?" Revan said. "Are you with us?"

His friend winced as though Revan had shouted. "Can't a guy...take a nap?" Alek's eyes slid shut.

Revan slapped his cheek. "Alek? Stay awake."

"Huh?" His chin sank.

"Wake up!" Bastila said.

"So tired...Don't feel right..." His eyelids drooped.

"Alek," Revan said, "I need to ask you a really important question."

His head snapped up, eyes wide. "What?"

Revan gripped his shoulders in a vice. "Can I have your prank lightsaber when you're dead?"

The large man's chest shook with laughter. "Not...dead yet."

"Well, you will be at this rate," Bastila said with a frown. "You are either very foolish...or very brave."

"Anything...for the Jedi..._Princess_."

"You can call me _Bastila_, you know."

"You can...call me..._Alek_."

"Deal. Just keep talking to us, Alek. Now how do you feel? Are you in pain?"

"Not really," Alek rasped. "Headache. Can't move...my arms. Chest...feels heavy."

Bastila turned to Revan. "The poison is spreading quickly. If we don't get him to a medical bay soon..."

"I know," Revan said. "I don't suppose you happen to have Terentatek antivenom in your med kit?"

She shook her head. "We'll have to synthesize it. Hopefully that bucket of bolts you insisted on bringing has a decent enough medical bay for that purpose."

"We'll use Czerka's if we have to." He noted she winced, closing her eyes for a moment, as if perhaps dizzy. He rose, and walked around to kneel beside her. Gingerly, he touched her shoulder. "How are you?" he asked. "Are you injured?"

"I hit my head," she said. "I'll be fine."

He paid her protest no heed, and ran his hands over her scalp, his fingers tangling into her soft, brown hair.

"I'm fine," Bastila said, annoyance tinging her voice. She let out a sharp breath when he found her injury, his hands coming away smeared with her blood.

"Sorry," he said. "Hold still." He grabbed an unused handkerchief from his pocket, and poured more kolto onto it.

Bastila winced as he applied the cloth to her head. "I said I'm fine."

But Revan was unrelenting. "You have a concussion."

"Of course I do," she muttered. After a few moments, she shifted to look at him. "So you agree it's a Terentatek?" she asked.

"No one's seen one in decades..."

"How is it that they aren't all extinct?"

"Perhaps the Jedi missed a few. Still, I hope it is a Terentatek, because at least a their venom is intended to only paralyze their victims."

He didn't need to mention that Terentateks eat their prey alive. She knew. Every Jedi knew the old stories.

"Even so," Bastila said, "I don't think Malak-"

"Alek!" the man beneath them said.

"_Alek—_will last more than a few hours. Eventually, the paralysis will spread to his lungs, and he'll suffocate. That is if his heart doesn't stop beating first."

Revan removed the cloth from her head, and rose to his feet. "Yes, yes, I know."

Bastila's head whipped up to look at him. "Of course! You know everything, _Master_. Whatever would we do without _you _to guide us? Oh, right! We wouldn't be in this mess in the first place!"

Revan ignored her caustic commentary. Something at the edge of the glade caught his eye. A shadow.

Bastila's voice stabbed into his eardrums. "Are you even listening to me? Because if you had just listened to me in the first place, we wouldn't even be here!"

Revan blinked. The shadow was gone. His eyes scanned the great trees, the tangled vines, the overgrown grass.

"If you had obtained _permission _for this misadventure, we'd have had sufficient force to deal with the Mandalorians. But _no_! You once again had to defy the chain of command and endanger everyone around you. Because you can't listen to _anyone_ but yourself talk. Because you're all-knowing and all-wise!"

"Force!" Malak rasped. "Stop yelling! Headache..."

There. That shadow hadn't been there before.

"But please, don't bother listening to me. I'm merely a _Padawan_ learner. What could _I_ possibly have to offer the great Revanchist? Oh, that's right! I'm only good for your precious Battle Medi-"

A laser shot struck through the air with a crack. The shadow fled, an enraged roar echoing amid the trees.

Silence fell, the air so thick that not even the flap of wings or buzz of insects could be heard.

"It's testing the perimeter," Revan muttered.

"Thank you for enlightening me with your wisdom, Master," Bastila said sweetly. "I would never have figured that out on my own."

Revan turned his head back to Bastila. "Are you finished?"

Bastila's jaw clenched shut, her lips sealed tightly. But her glare never left him, even when he turned back around to face the computer terminal's alien hologram. He wiped the sweat from his eyes with his robe sleeve.

He spoke to the computer. "I need you to understand me," he said. Pointing at his mouth.

_Not builders. Not slaves._

"Did it just call us _slaves_?" Bastila asked.

Revan snickered. "Everyone serves somebody."

"Why are you even speaking with that thing?"

"Because if we're going to get out of here, we'll need that battle droid."

The holograph disappeared, replaced by a series of images. No, a set of visual instructions. But there was one more surprise. The final image froze.

A holocron. It wanted him to insert one as an interface. And he always kept his holocron journal on him.

Things were finally looking up.

**.:.**

"Access denied." Those large, extended, beady eyes just blinked lazily at him. It didn't care if they lived or died. No. Only the Star Map mattered.

Revan cursed at the Rakatan hologram for the hundredth time in twenty minutes.

"Cursing at me won't help your situation."

Great. Now the computer had adopted his dry sense of humor, thanks to his holocron.

No matter what he tried, it would not relent. The battle droid would stay. And now it had warned him: Any further attempt to circumvent this core security behavior would be met with force.

He glanced up. What little light had glowed amid the branches above them had faded, to be replaced with shadows. The sun would soon set. And departing with the sun would be their transportation to the tree tops.

It was time to call it quits. He turned back to the alien hologram.

"May I have access to the Star Map?"

"Access granted."

He whipped out his datapad, and walked up to the "Star Map." It opened in response, a holographic map of the galaxy hovering above the device. Whatever it was—and whatever the Star Forge was—he knew it was something of power.

Something dark. This entire place was the nexus of the dark side on this planet. It wanted him to come here. It wanted him to find this. But something else wanted him here as well—something not of the dark, but of the light. Something that told him he could turn a thing intended for great evil into that which could accomplish good.

"Revan," Bastila said softly.

He finished downloading the data, and turned to her. She was still tending to Alek. But now her stony glare had softened, replaced with deep concern.

"Whatever you plan to do next," she continued, "do it quickly."

For the first time in his life, Revan was truly afraid. Not for himself, but for his friend. The last time his friend had been in a scrape—captured by their enemy—he at least hadn't been there to see it. He could be objective. But now...He was forced to helplessly watch. He'd never actually watched a friend die before. Probably because he didn't consider most of the people around him friends.

The worst part was that _he_ had done this. Not the Mandalorians. _Him_.

And he knew deep down he would do it again, even knowing what it would cost his best friend.

He swallowed the bile that rose to his throat. "Is he still breathing?"

"Yes, but he can't talk anymore, and he's having difficulty swallowing. He's also running a high-grade fever." She paused for a moment, pursing her lips. "There's more. I'm trying to heal him with the Force, or just even slow the spread of the poison, but it's such a struggle."

He nodded. She didn't have to spell out what it was. The dark side. It was smothering the light here.

"I suspect our new friend made its lair here just because of that," he said. "As close as it could get to the dark without getting itself shot."

Revan turned back to the computer terminal. He had one last thing to do before they left this place. Their enemy could never be allowed to know of the existence of any super weapon or super factory.

"There are people who would misuse this Star Forge if they found it," Revan said. "Can you restrict access to the Star Map, as well as any information regarding the Star Forge to anyone but myself?"

The hologram seemed to freeze for a moment. Then, a lazy blink of its alien eyes. "You are not a builder to restrict access to this terminal."

"No, I'm not. But neither are the people who might find this place. They won't honor the builders."

"Will you?"

"Can't you tell from my holocron?"

Another lazy blink. "You are not a slave. You do not serve the builders."

"That's because there are no longer any builders. My holocron will confirm this information."

Another freeze. Another blink. "Irrelevant. My assignment will continue until instructed otherwise by a builder."

Revan nodded. "As it should. I am trying to help you carry out your assignment. You must understand. The galaxy hasn't seen a builder in some time. That means the slaves aren't slaves anymore. Allowing access to just any sentient with the intelligence to answer security questions will no longer be enough to safeguard this installation."

The alien hologram inclined its head. "Your logic computes. I will restrict further access to this terminal. Should you wish to access this terminal again, your neural patterns must match what is contained in this holocron."

"I take it you'll be keeping my holocron?"

"Affirmation."

"Very well. Just please safeguard it. I would hate for someone to read my journal."

"Affirmation. Your holocron will be considered a part of this installation's security and interface systems."

"Thank you for trusting me."

"I don't. It is your holocron that tells the truth."

Revan didn't know whether he should have been disturbed by that comment. He brushed it aside, and knelt next to Bastila.

"We're leaving," he said.

Bastila shook her head. "We won't make it out there carrying him. We'll have to get help. And I don't think that Terentatek will allow us to go very far."

"I know. But we can't wait for help. Surik might not find us in time."

"In time for what?"

"Nightfall. Not even the Wookiees are crazy enough to come down here after dark."

"I take it the Terentateks are the nice petting zoo animals compared to what comes out at night?"

"Precisely."

Bastila's brow creased. "We can't wait until morning. Alek..."

"I know. Which is why we make a run for it now, or never."

"Won't it risk your precious mission?"

His hand reached for her shoulder, gripping it tightly. "You're right. About me. You're right. Everything you said. And I'm sorry I brought you here. It was foolish of me to go in without support. I've endangered us all."

Her wide, blue eyes; those soft, rosy lips parted in shock—they would seal themselves into his memory for years to come.

"Regardless," he continued, "we're running out of time to get off this planet altogether." He fumbled in his robe pocket. The soft feel of plush met his fingertips. He paused, giving the toy a squeeze. Then he pulled it out, handing it to Bastila.

"If I don't make it, I want you to return this to Senator Stazi on Duros. He'll understand."

Her lips quivered. "Y-you're not actually going out there alone?"

"No, you are. You're going for help. And you're going to take the droid part with you."

She made to protest, but he put a hand to her mouth.

"Just listen. I'm going to distract our friend out there. Do you think you can find your way back to the lift within the next hour?"

She gave no response. Only a deep pleading in her eyes. He didn't know if it was for his safety or for her own; and he didn't care to ask, lest he not like the answer.

He lowered his hand from her lips. "Hand me your datapad," he said.

Shakily, she obeyed.

He thumbed his way to the recording feature, and spoke into it. "This is General Revan speaking. I am ordering a secure transmission be sent to the garrison at Zeltros. Order them to fall back should they be attacked. If unable to escape, surrender immediately. Otherwise, all personnel on the ground are to avoid capture. Offer no resistance until help arrives. Then give 'em hell. These are my final orders."

He stopped the recording, and handed the datapad back to its owner.

"I'm sorry," he said. "That's all I can give you. All I can give them. And even that is risky."

He stood to his feet, and began looking for his gauntlets and mask. He would need all the protection he could get.

"You're insane," Bastila said, also now rising to her feet. "That thing will kill you if you fight it alone. We should at least try to kill it together."

He pulled on his gloves, and at last found his mask. He nearly put it on his face before he felt something hairy brush with a gentle pressure against his gloved hand. In moment's panic, he flung the mask to the ground. A kinrath crawled away on spidery legs. Force, how he hated those things! He peered at Bastila as he raised the mask to his face again. She was biting her lower lip, her brow knitted.

He drew his hood over his head. "If we fight it together, we could both die. At least if I fight it alone, it will buy you time to run." He paused, thinking. "Check Alek's pockets for more flash grenades. They don't seem to like those much."

"I think you're making another mistake," Bastila said, groping through Alek's pockets and bag. She came out with two grenades, and handed them to Revan. "And you're still not listening."

"You can yell at me later. Do you have your navigation equipment?"

She nodded.

He unclipped both lightsabers from his belt. "When that thing comes for me, you run. Don't look back."

She said nothing. Merely picked up the droid chassis. Held it tightly under her arm. But something was missing.

"Where is your lightsaber?" he asked.

"I think I lost in the cave."

He handed her his spare.

She shook her head. "You need it more than I."

"If that thing kills me, it will hunt you next. Take it."

She relented, gripping it in her hand tightly. He gripped her shoulder, looking into her gray eyes one last time, nodding reassuringly.

"You'll be fine, kinrath pup."

"What?"

"Well your face is scrunched up like one."

But she didn't react, the gravity of the moment weighing too heavily on her features. He gave her shoulder one last squeeze, and stepped away from her, making his way up the hillside toward the creature's lair. He had no intention of going into the thick of the trees. He would force it to face him in the open, where he could see it coming.

"Revan," Bastila said.

Revan glanced over his shoulder. Bastila said nothing else, but her eyes said everything. Worry, concern, perhaps even an unspoken apology. He gave her another nod, and pressed onward. He stopped well past the perimeter, and waited, his eyes scanning the tangle of roots and vines at the edge of the clearing.

Several minutes passed. "Here, beastie," Revan muttered, his eyes fixating on a shadow. He was tempted to throw a flash grenade at it, but he couldn't even be sure if it really was his prey.

So fixated was he on that one shadow that he almost didn't hear the faint snap of branches high above him, where the branches of the many trees encircling the hillside met.

"Revan!" Bastila's voice.

His head snapped up.

A great shadow. Claws.

His mask felt the scrape of the creature's talons before he felt the impact of its massive body. Even as his back slammed into the ground, he pressed the switch on a flash grenade, his eyes squeezing shut.

Blinding light seared through his mask and closed eyelids. A great weight crushed his chest, knocking the wind out of him. He could hear his ribs crack. A sharp pain. He ignored it. Adrenaline quickly numbed him to all but the rapid beat of his heart. The Terentatek writhed on top of him. Had to get up. He struggled to drag himself from under it, but it was no use. It rolled off him, its arms flailing, lashing out in rage. His ears rang from its shrieks.

He wasted no time. Staggering to his feet, he brandished his lightsaber. Air swept past his head, the creature's arm narrowly missing. Almost recklessly, he charged at the enraged beast. He had only one advantage—his sight—and that would fade quickly as soon as the creature recovered its own.

He dodged a frenzied swipe of its talons as it thrashed, and plunged his lightsaber deep into its thick hide. Smoke erupted where the blade slowly melted through the skin. In that brief moment, Revan could smell the overwhelming scent of charred flesh. A shrill shriek knifed his eardrums.

The Terentatek reeled, lashing at him with its claws, its jaws snapping. Vision or not, it knew where he was now. The claws found their target. His lightsaber flew from his hand. Revan rolled to the side even as the beast's massive arm slammed to the ground where he had been standing. He reached out, willing his lightsaber to come to him. He felt the cold cylinder slap into his hand, like a ball caught by a glove. It reignited even as he leaped to his feet.

The creature retreated a few steps, its eyes warily following the glow of his blade.

Revan raised an eyebrow beneath his mask. "So," he said aloud, "you've never been bitten by one of these before. Fast learner."

Revan began to circle his enemy, carefully planting his feet. The creature's gaze followed him intently, looking for an opening. Revan sucked in a sharp breath. His ribs ached, but not as much as they should have. And it wasn't merely because of adrenaline. He didn't feel right. He stopped circling. The beast was..._smiling_? Was that even possible from an animal? But there was no mistaking those hanging jaws, and that repeated release of air between its teeth. It wasn't just smiling. It was laughing.

Revan's face paled. The dull ache in his ribs was fading rapidly. Slowly, Revan looked down at his tattered robes. Four great gashes oozed blood from his side all the way up to his chest. They were shallow wounds. Not meant to kill. He didn't even remember receiving them. He gripped his lightsaber all the more tightly. He only had so much time to take this thing down.

Revan's gaze returned to the beast's. It stared right back, a sick pleasure glowing in its eyes. And then it did the unthinkable.

It walked away.

Revan stared after it in disbelief. "No," he said, realization dawning on him. It was saving him for later. His eyes scanned down the hill at the alien computer terminal. She had already gone for help.

"No," he said, more resolutely now. "You're not taking her!"

He staggered after it, the numbness now spreading to his legs. "No!"

It paid him no heed, its massive body lumbering between the trees after its next target. Revan stumbled on a root, and fell to his knees, gripping his ribs with his free hand. He closed his eyes. He couldn't give up. Not on her. He wouldn't have her blood on his hands as well. With deep, rasping breaths, he drew on the Force. He stretched out his free hand.

"I may not be able to use the Force on you," Revan said, "but I can use it on other things."

The great wroshyr trees shook. At first, only a vibration through their trunks. Then the vibrations grew more violent. Their mighty branches snapped like twigs, tumbling to the ground in a mighty avalanche.

And into the Terentatek's path.

He could hear its angered roar. He knew at least a few of those great branches had hit their target.

But it was still alive. And now coming back for him.

He rose to his feet with the last of his strength. With a trembling hand, he reached for his last flash grenade.

"Never strike in anger," he said, even as the Terentatek opened wide its slathering maw.

He pressed the grenade switch.

**.:.**

Bastila Shan was used to running every day, for at least thirty minutes. It was the first thing she did upon awaking. Dress in her Navy sweats, run, shower, change, and get to work. No Jedi Master ever had to tell her when to train. She was disciplined, controlled. Every muscle, every sinew.

But never before had she had to run for her life.

Sweat trickled into her eyes, soaked her robes. Her breaths came sharply, her side burning. Now and then, she stumbled over a root, or nearly slipped in a puddle of mud. The only creatures in her way were the larger kinrath that sought to drag her to their nests, and the mother tachs that dove in to claim her as a meal for their young. All scattered at a swipe of her lightsaber. She could only pray that the Terentatek didn't kill Revan and follow after her—or that something far worse didn't find her alone out there.

Bastila stopped to catch her breath yet again, and tore her eyes from what lay ahead to look at her hand-held navigation system. She was close. Very close. Only a hundred meters, if she weaved her way around the giant tree ahead of her. She took a few more deep breaths, and resumed her run.

At last, winding between the trees, she saw it. The lift. Deep in the fog. Twilight had fallen over the clearing, the shafts of light no longer weaved between the tree branches high above.

But something was wrong. The Wookiee was missing.

Bastila's eyes narrowed. She pinned the droid part under her arm all the more tightly, gripping her lightsaber with determination. Cautiously, she stepped into the clearing, struggling to keep her breathing calm and quiet. A twig snapped beneath her. Finally, she came to the wooden platform. A lump lay on top of it. Furry. No, two lumps. Wookiees. From the glow of her lightsaber, she could tell that neither lump was the Wookiee that had escorted them to the Shadowlands. These Wookiees had streaks of gray lining their fur—they were older. Blood matted their fur. She could smell it—sickly sweet.

She moved away from them, her eyes scanning her surroundings.

A shadow. She froze.

A deep growl rose seemingly from the depths of the ground beneath her. It made her shake.

No, he couldn't be dead. _Please don't be dead._

The shadow moved—slowly, leisurely—toward her.

Dimly, she could make out its features. Blood all over it. And dirt.

No, this wasn't the same one.

"It can't be," she breathed. It had climbed out from under the rubble. How could they forget about it? How could they assume?

It took another step towards her, its eyes glowing in the dark with the hatred of revenge.

Deep down, she knew she wasn't going to survive if she fought it alone. She was too tired, too weak. She took the only option left to her.

She ran.

It pursued.

Through tangled vines, muddied waters, past trees and roots. It never let up. Only a few steps behind her. Her legs felt like lead, but she willed them on, adrenaline carrying her. But it closed in, its breath on her neck. Just as its jaws snapped, she skidded down a slope on her left. Stumbled, slid, rolled. Dragged herself up. Clutched the droid part to her chest. Ran.

But it came down the slope after her. Closed in on her.

There. Some sort of cave? The opening so narrow. She pushed her tired body towards it. But she never reached it. A massive head slammed into her back. She stumbled to the ground, her face in the mud. The droid part gone. Her lightsaber gone. She rolled to her back.

There was no defense against the double row of teeth bearing down on her. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Get off my lawn!"

A voice, deep and angry.

Bastila opened her eyes. A figure stood above her defensively, brandishing a flaming torch in one hand, and a lightsaber in the other. The creature backed away with a snarl. The man stepped towards it, swinging his torch in its face.

"Go on! Get!"

And it did, disappearing into the dark. But not without a frustrated roar that echoed through the woods.

Bastila slowly sat up. A hand was offered to her. Dark-skinned and wrinkled. Gratefully, she took it.

"Well, well," the man said, a twinkle in his eye. "Look what the Terentatek dragged in."

Bastila stared at him in shock.

"Don't go thanking me or anything."

"I...Thank you."

"My pleasure."

"Y-you're a Jedi."

"Well, aren't you the clever one. But yes, I used to be. A long time ago. Now I live here." The old man scratched his scruffy chin, and reached into a robe pocket, pulling out a commlink. He spoke into it. "Meetra, one of your friends wandered to my home."

Bastila glanced at the cave-like structure. No, it wasn't a cave. It was more of a stone hut.

"Meetra, do you read?"

The reply came garbled, but intelligible. "That's good news. Only one?"

"The girl," he said. "I'll put her on."

He handed the commlink to Bastila, who took it with trembling hands. The adrenaline from a few minutes ago had left her body a jittery wreck.

"General, I'm here. Where are you?"

"I'm with some Wookiees. Just clicks away from you. I convinced them to help with a search and rescue. Where's Revan and Malak?"

"I can take you to them."

"Stay put. We'll be right over."

Bastila and the old man waited. But the old man would not allow them to wait in silence. He kept chatting. And chatting. And chatting. Telling stories. Until she could bear it no longer.

Fortunately, Surik arrived, a host of Wookiees in tow, armed with firebrands and vibroblades.

"Good to see you," she said, and grabbed Bastila in a tight embrace. She didn't argue with it. For once she returned it, albeit awkwardly. She was just happy to be alive. "You all right?"

Bastila nodded. "Just some scrapes. Minor concussion, I think. How did you manage to get the Wookiees to help us? And after dark, at that?"

"Let's just say their chieftain owes us a favor for dumping Czerka's weapons over the ledge. They're having a field day looting the Czerka facility."

"I take it Czerka no longer requires your supervision, then?"

Surik's only response was a wide grin.

Bastila changed the subject. "General, they're an hour out, less if we hurry."

The other woman nodded, and then turned to the old man. "I take it you won't be tagging along this time either?" Surik said.

"Who's going to do a search and rescue for _me _if my knee pops again?" the old man said.

"Well, I definitely wasn't going to carry you, old man."

"Bah! No respect for the elderly! But still, I take it you ran into two very surly Terentateks?"

Bastila nodded. "Yes, we came across their lair."

"Ah. Well, then. I know a shortcut. Though last time I found that place, they were in hibernation. Funny they should wake up."

"Lead the way, Jolee," Surik said.

And so they began their trek towards the lair. It was a brisk march, and Bastila struggled to drag her tired legs along, one foot in front of the other. At least one of the Wookiees was kind enough to carry the droid part for her.

At last, after much winding through the trees, they found the hillside to the Terentateks' lair.

One lay dead on the hillside. But where was Revan?

Bastila's legs reacted before her brain could stop her. She ran down the hillside. "Revan!"

And there he was, buried beneath the massive corpse. Bastila fell beside him. "Revan? Can you hear me?" She felt for a pulse. It was faint, but there nonetheless. His breathing shallow. She lifted his mask from his face. His eye fluttered open. She could tell he was paralyzed, like Malak, the poison working through his body.

"You're like your friend, you know," Bastila said. "Either very foolish, or very brave."

He rewarded her with the corners of his lips upturning slightly in a smile.

Now the Wookiees were there beside her. Together, they rolled the corpse off Revan. They then set out a grass and bamboo stretcher beside him, and hoisted him on top of it.

"Alek is just down the hillside," Bastila said. "Allow me to go first."

But they had nothing to fear from the battle droid. The computer terminal recognized Bastila, and seemed to understand what was happening. It let them be.

"Interesting device," the old man mused. But Bastila told him nothing of it. "But more interesting is your boyfriend," he said.

Bastila arched her eyebrows. "What? He's not my-"

A Wookiee growled behind her.

"Hmm, interesting," the old man said again. "Zaalbar here says that it's a shame your friend didn't kill the other Terentatek. He says they couldn't find Bacca's blade in this one's corpse."

"Bacca's what?"

The Wookiee growled some more, its speech gutteral and animal-like.

"One of their ancestral chieftains, Bacca, tried to kill a Terentatek many years ago," Jolee said. "The blade of his sword was swallowed by the creature's hide, leaving only the hilt."

"I see," Bastila said.

Zaalbar growled again.

"He says that the Terentatek and its mate have been asleep many years, until now."

More growls.

"He says the remaining Terentatek will hunt them unless they sleep again. He-"

Zaalbar growled angrily. No, not angrily, but sternly.

"He says you must leave, so that the Terentatek will sleep again."

Bastila shook her head. "We'll be leaving as soon as we can, but I don't understand how we could have woken them."

"The dark side wakes them," Jolee said. "And your friend there is very dark indeed."

Her hands went to her hips. "I'm sorry, but Revan isn't-"

"I didn't say he's fallen to the dark side, kid. But he's in a fight against it. It's calling to him, as it does to all Jedi at least once in their lives. For him, the call was strong. Strong enough to wake the Terentateks."

Bastila felt a chill, and hugged her arms to herself.

"This entire place is very dark," Jolee mused. "But enough talk of dark things. He's safe from it, for now. But I would advise all of you to never return to the Shadowlands. That Terentatek won't forgive any of you for killing its mate, even if it was only your friend who dealt the killing blow."

Quietly, Bastila fell into step behind the old man as he led the way back. What he had said had disturbed her, and she prayed Revan never succumbed to the siren call she herself could hear even now, emanating from the Star Map behind her.

**.:.**

A lone freighter dropped from hyperspace, the glowing orb of Taris looming before it. Even as it dropped, the orbital defense satellites locked onto the craft. It had a precious five seconds before it was obliterated. One transmission later, and the satellites disarmed. The freighter made a show of slowly positioning itself to enter the atmosphere.

And that's when the Republic fleet dropped out of hyperspace. The Mandalorians had little time to discern why their satellites weren't firing on the host of cruisers. The vast majority of the satellites in range were blown apart instantly, having been painted earlier by the freighter. What few Mandalorian ships were in orbit quickly turned to meet the intruders.

It was the first true battle in a long time in which Bastila had the chance to use her Battle Meditation. And she made sure to make quick work of the Mandalorians. The element of surprise was on their side. She used it to her advantage. With the Republic's morale already soaring from their momentum, she could focus on breaking the Mandalorians' honor.

She broke them within ten minutes. Like twigs snapping beneath her boots, one by one the remaining Mandalorian ships surrendered. That left the paratroopers to defend as they and the air strike force dealt a blow to the Mandalorian bases on the planet's surface. But she had little work to do there. The citizens themselves rose up, realizing their liberators had at last arrived. The last Mandalorian surrendered.

Revan walked into the room, a slight limp in his gait the only sign that he had been in a tussle but a few days before. Bastila's eyes fluttered open as she surfaced from her meditation. Revan had already removed his mask, and was now sitting across from her on the pillow.

"Good work," he said.

She nodded.

"I commed Admiral Dodonna to inform her. We'll be turning around to regroup and take Zeltros as soon as Taris is secured."

"Have you heard anything yet? Of the casualties?"

Revan looked to the floor a moment. "Most of the garrison there dispersed when they were attacked, as ordered. But the Mandalorians...they've done things. It's all over the news. A reporter caught some footage..."

Bastila swallowed hard, her own eyes now averted to the floor. She had felt the desperation of the Tarisians on the planet below. The great hope that swelled in their hearts. She knew things had been done to them. To the civilians. And now they were being done to the Zeltrons. They had merely swapped planets.

"Do you still feel it was worth it?" Bastila asked softly.

"I don't know," Revan said. "I could never know the path not taken."

She raised her eyes, to find him gazing at her softly.

"I'm sorry. We'll free them shortly. I doubt Cassus will stay there much longer once he realizes nearly the entire Republic fleet from all sectors will be closing in on him. He'll fall back to Onderon before he allows us to close the net. Onderon is a far better place for him to raise up a defense."

"I only hope he does not do something rash on his way out."

"I gave up hope for such kindnesses from Cassus Fett long ago. But perhaps his father will restrain him. Intel says he joined their fleet at Zeltros two days ago."

"I see. So if they fall back to Onderon..."

"It will be the last leg of the war. Or so I hope. It is their beach head for attacking the Republic. If we drive them from there, we have a chance at total victory. They will have to retreat to Mandalorian space."

Bastila sniffed. "You make it sound easy."

"No, it won't be. Far from it. I fear we haven't yet seen the worst part of this war." Revan's head bowed with weariness.

Bastila reached into her robe pocket, feeling for the soft plush toy he'd given her days before. She pressed into his hands. "Someday you'll have to tell me the back story to that."

Revan smiled sadly, his thumbs rubbing the toy's belly. "Someday..."

Bastila laid a hand on his arm. "Thank you," she said softly.

He raised his head. "What for?"

"For listening to me. The casualties could have been much worse."

He nodded, his eyes shifting downward, as if uncertain of what to say. He raised his eyes again. "I know I've broken your trust. I only hope in time I can earn it again. You have certainly earned mine."

Bastila's brow knit in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Faithful are the wounds of a friend," he said. "The truest friends are those who give the truest counsel, even if it stings. I count you my truest friend because of that. I was a fool not to listen to your counsel. I hope that you will forgive me."

Bastila shook her head grimly. "I thought we shouldn't be friends," she said. "After all, aren't even the smallest attachments for a Jedi were a weakness?"

He smirked, sliding to his feet. "Yet somehow, I made a friend anyway."

"But are you _my _friend?" Bastila asked, a smirk gracing her own lips.

He did not answer her verbally. Instead, he did the unexpected. He bent over her, tenderly pressing his lips to her forehead. She closed her eyes tightly for a brief moment. Her face flushed at the simple act, her skin burning where his lips had touched, stealing the breath from her lungs.

When she opened her eyes again, he was gone.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! For some reason, I found the first scene very difficult to write, possibly because I am trying to make a smooth transition to a new setting, as well as depict the passage of time. It was trickier than I had anticipated.

Happy reading!

**CHAPTER 15**

_Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit._

Bastila gazed dejectedly out the corvette ship's cockpit viewport. Outside, a host of Republic ships—the _Ravager_ somewhere among them—floated around what appeared to be a set of twin planets. Obviously, one was a moon, but it was difficult to differentiate which was which, given their similar sizes and proximity. But Bastila could tell through the Force. The dark side swirled around one orb more than the other, like a black hole sucking all light into itself.

Dxun—the Demon Moon of Onderon. From here, it really did look like a demon, stalking the planet it orbited, the atmospheres at times merging such that the crazed beasts of Dxun could fly into Onderon and terrorize the people there.

After three months of bitter fighting, the Mandalorians had withdrawn to their last major foothold in the Inner Rim. Even now, she could see the tiny dots in the distance that were the amassed Mandalorian fleet. They vigilantly guarded the hyperspace lane leading to their home worlds. With the moon's surface littered with ion cannons that could easily fire upon any ships within range of the hyperspace lane, there would be no advancing, nor so much as even liberating Onderon. Not unless the Republic fleet wished to be sandwiched in a death trap. Neither could they use the Taris hyperspace lane to reach Mandalorian space, for that would involve splitting the Republic forces required to contain the Mandalorians here.

In short, there was no choice but to destroy the ion cannons. At first, the Republic had deployed air strikes, but after losing hundreds of pilots and over twenty cruisers, Revan had grudgingly decided to destroy the remaining targets from the ground. Of course, they did all they could to keep the ground troops safe, laying down cover in the form of more airs strikes, missile payloads, and battle droids. Nevertheless, it was at great cost that the Republic had finally established a ground presence. Only then did the Mandalorian fleet give them any quarter, as though they wanted them to be there, on the moon's surface. Perhaps they thrived from the challenge, or perhaps there was a trap awaiting them.

But Bastila had larger concerns.

From the pilot's seat, she closed her eyes, her mind stretching out to the moon. She could feel no life signs—only the dark side, hiding everything in a shroud. Just like all the other times she had tried. Her Battle Meditation was useless from here.

She opened her eyes again with resignation. There was no other way. Revan already had plans to join the ground forces, leaving Alek in command of the fleet. It was with great reluctance, however, that he was taking Bastila with him.

_Revan_. She had been almost grateful that the past few months of fighting had kept her mind too occupied and exhausted to think of anything frivolous. Now with the brief lull in the fleet and nothing more to do than paperwork, she found her mind often wandering. Wandering to Revan. To that tender kiss on the forehead he'd given her. It had made her stomach knot both in apprehension and...something else. She knew he didn't mean it that way. He couldn't have. He'd made things very clear, after all. It was done out of friendship, and nothing more.

But she could bet Revan never kissed his best friend Alek on the forehead.

_Blast it!_ What did it mean? Why did she blush even thinking about it? Why was she thinking about it at all, for that matter?

A little astromech droid beeped from behind her, shaking her from her brooding. She peered over her shoulder at it.

"I am _not_ staring at empty space! I'm monitoring the controls!"

It dwooped inquisitively as it tried to lift itself higher, but failed altogether in seeing out the viewport and the HUD that overlaid it. It gave up with a disappointed beep.

"Well, if you were taller, you'd be able to see for yourself."

More beeps and dwoops.

"No, I am _definitely_ not thinking about _him_. Besides, how could you possibly know what I'm thinking about?"

The droid chirped a series of beeps that sounded like a racing heartbeat.

Bastila could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. "I assure you, my heart rate does not increase in his presence."

It beeped again, its flat head swiveling in an adamant denial.

"Is T3 bothering you again?"

Bastila's head whipped back to look at the viewport, and away from the cockpit entrance where the source of the voice had intruded, hoping to hide her flushing cheeks.

"Our departure window is almost open," Bastila said, deftly steering the conversation far, far away from the droid's new favorite topic, and praying desperately that Revan hadn't overheard their conversation.

Revan seated himself in the copilot's seat, buckling himself in. "T3 must have you really annoyed for you to actually change the subject." His grin was both devastatingly charming and infuriating.

"And I must be exhibiting an extraordinary amount of Jedi control to ignore the pestering behavior with which _you_ programmed him. Don't you think so, Master?"

Revan merely grinned, reaching over to pat the droid on the head. Then he opened his mouth again to perhaps pester her more. Fortunately, the ship comm prevented his further teasing.

Their fighter escort was signing on. It was time to depart. With months of practiced skill, Bastila steered the craft through the drifting Republic ships towards the great moon. Nearly ten minutes later, they were entering Dxun's atmosphere. A storm cloud enveloped their corvette, rain mercilessly pelting the viewport and the cross-currents whipping into the hull. Bastila gripped the pilot's stick with white knuckles as the ship shook in its descent.

"Pull up," Revan said beside her.

The shaking only became more violent.

"More. Pull up more."

She already was pulling up "more," but she held her tongue. The cross-currents resisted her, tossing them about. It was all she could do to stay on their strict flight path and not veer off into the fighter escort flying alongside them.

"Ease up on the throttle, sweetheart."

Her hand obediently went to the throttle, leaving her left hand to wrestle with the stick alone. She was just beginning to slide the throttle forward when felt Revan's hand rest on hers. Its warmth sent a jolt of electricity up her arm, and it was all she could do not to flinch.

"Slow and steady," Revan said, his hand gliding hers over the throttle, the ship descending smoothly in response.

Bastila could feel her cheeks warm, even as her throat tightened and her breath caught. The T3 droid chirped a fast-beating heart imitation in mockery. She tightened her jaw and pulled her hand from under his, gripping the stick tightly with both hands as another gust of wind struck the craft.

"Try to land in the center of the landing pad this time," Revan said.

Bastila would have rolled her eyes if they weren't so fixated on the controls. "Wouldn't want to ruin your grand entrance," she muttered.

T3 beeped and dwooped from behind them.

"What's that, T3?" Revan said. "You think she's jealous?"

"Not in the least!" she said. "Being assaulted by reporters has no appeal to me." She risked a quick glance at the droid. "And why are you siding with him, anyway?"

"He was just forming an objective opinion," Revan said.

"Objective?"

"Well, considering he's siding with the person who wanted to scrap him for spare parts..."

T3 beeped sullenly.

"You mean spare parts for the protocol droid you'll never finish building? I don't think so."

"Just remember: No matter what opinions he forms, _you're_ the one who wanted to keep him."

The irony was not lost on Bastila. After their victory at Taris, she had pleaded with Revan to rebuild the droid. To Revan, the droid's broken chassis was only good for the codes in its memory, but Bastila had argued otherwise. After all, Taris was known for its state-of-the-art T3-M4 droids. As for a more personal reason she wouldn't admit to Revan, she wanted someone—or something—to whom to delegate the menial task of serving Revan's caffa. Though Revan had relented, what was a wonder to her was that he had conducted the repairs himself rather than delegating them to an engineer. She could only come to one conclusion—that he had done it for her. She never had the courage to ask why.

The clouds at last parted as they descended, the rain abating into light sprinkles. The crest of Onderon stretched across the horizon. Bastila caught her breath at the lovely sight. Sadly, the sight below was not so lovely. The vast jungle looked sickly, the trees mangled and twisting on themselves. She could feel the air thickening as they descended—the dark side. She had to take deep breaths, as though she were hiking in high altitude. If Revan felt the same, he did not show it.

The landing pad at last came into view, a speck amid the dark tangle of jungle trees. Bastila deftly steered the craft towards their destination, the wind having calmed in their descent. She lowered the landing gear as they came to a hover over the clearing, their escort breaking away and signing off over the comm.

Her lips lifted in a triumphant grin when the craft touched ground. It was the smoothest landing she had ever achieved, despite the bizarre weather.

"Well done," Revan said as he unbuckled his safety belt. "We should schedule the the test for your license soon."

She powered off the craft, and unbuckled her own belt before rising. "How hard is the test?"

"Easier than flying in this weather," Revan said.

"Can't be that hard if Alek passed."

Revan donned his mask and raised his hood over his head. "Actually, he never took the test. He just likes to fly anyway."

Bastila rubbed a delicate hand across her brow. "Fantastic."

"Come along! My adoring fans await!"

They made their way through the ship's corridors, the T3 droid silently following. Bastila steeled herself, and not just because of the dark aura that smothered her here. Even though she would hardly be the center of attention, just even being in the background of a holovid recording made her nervous. Since the victory at Taris two months prior, the media had renewed their interest in Revan a hundredfold. Revan was quite the showman in response when he had set foot on Taris, the reporters crowding around him like vultures.

Revan had been more than prepared for the media onslaught. He had even helped organize it. It was a necessary evil, or so he had explained. He had to win the public opinion for his actions so as to avoid a court martial with the Defense Ministry for withholding information on Zeltros. Thus, his showmanship on Taris rivaled the displays of even the most eloquent political campaigns. From his rousing speech, to the cheering crowds of liberated Tarisians, to the delivery of food and medicine—Revan made sure the Mercy Corp lived up to its name. As such, the Defense Ministry found him untouchable. Although that didn't stop the angry calls from Admiral Dodonna. Naturally, Bastila had to answer them. Even after two months, Dodonna still held somewhat of a grudge for being kept out of the loop.

General Surik had warned them that reporters would be here, embedded with the troops. By this point, even Revan was sick of the attention, but there was nothing they could do. Freedom of the press, not to mention the Supreme Chancellor's own requests for openness with the public, would keep the vultures circling.

A blast of muggy heat blew into Bastila's face as the ship ramp lowered. Sure enough, she could see the reporters crowding the muddy landing pad, their holocams recording. She donned her hood, following Revan at a discrete distance.

What she hadn't been prepared for was the largest display of Jedi she had ever seen gathered together at once. They were lined up in two large groups, forming an aisle down the center from the ramp. Their lightsabers snapped alive in a salute.

Revan paused at the base of the ramp, and unclipped his lightsaber from his belt. He ignited it, and raised it high, saluting the Mercy Corp in return.

His fellow Jedi waved their lightsabers and roared their approval, shouting his name over and over.

Bastila rolled her eyes, remaining standing at the top of the ramp away from view, waiting impatiently for Revan to walk down the makeshift aisle. But the blasted press blocked his path, asking their mundane questions. Fortunately, Revan began pushing past them as he answered, in no mood for a long-winded speech, but responsive enough to crack jokes and keep his audience amused with half answers. She quietly walked down the ramp after him, keeping her distance, the T3 droid rolling beside her.

And that's when things went terribly wrong. One reporter caught sight of her, and then another, and another, until she was surrounded. They asked questions. She gaped dumbly.

"Bastila Shan?"

"How does your Battle Meditation work?"

"What made you defy the Jedi Order and join the Revanchists?"

"What music is on your datapad?"

_No,_ she thought, her eyes wincing at the flashing lights. _Oh no_.

Revan was rushing to her, pushing his way through the crowd, grabbing her, trying to hide her face under his arm.

"No comment!" he shouted.

But it was too late. The damage had been done. She had been exposed. Her gift. Everything.

More Jedi joined him in getting her past the reporters. T3 beeped in confusion, accidentally rolling over a few toes. At last, General Surik herself ran up to them.

"Get them out of here!" she ordered. Her head whipped to a reporter butting in to get a better holoshot. "Hey, back off!" she said, shoving him away irritably.

Their Jedi entourage escorted them at last to the safety of the nearby headquarters, which was more of a bunker. Once inside, Surik thanked their escort and locked the door, wiping the sweat off her brow with her sleeve.

Revan ripped his mask from his face and threw it to the ground. "What the hell was that?"

"I am _so_ sorry, sir!" Surik said. "I had no idea they would be asking those questions. If I had had any idea at all-"

Revan inhaled a deep breath, closing his eyes. "It's not your fault." He sat down at a table, tossing back his hood. "Were they broadcasting that live?"

Surik nodded grimly.

Bastila sat down beside Revan, feeling numb.

"We're going to need a guard around her," Revan said. "Jedi, if we can spare them. But not too many. They need to be discrete. We don't want to draw attention to her. We'll need to rotate her location randomly and frequently."

Surik nodded. "Will do, sir."

"And I want to know who the hell leaked her location."

"Good luck with that, sir."

Revan sniffed. "Can't we water board one of the reporters and find out?"

Surik gave him a grin. "Oh, I'd love to if I could get away with it. But maybe a Jedi mind trick will have to do?"

Revan let out a chuckle, and turned to Bastila. He laid a hand on her shoulder. "How are you holding up?"

"My hair looks awful," Bastila said, a wry smirk playing on her lips.

"Now you know why I wear a hood and mask," Revan said with a wink.

"Well," Surik said, "for what it's worth, welcome to Dxun—the galaxy's lousiest vacation resort."

"You're the one who wanted a ground campaign," Revan said.

"I'll be careful what I ask for next time." Surik let out a breath, her hand rubbing her face. "Sir, I don't think we can just stick her in a bunker and hope to keep her safe."

"Is it really that bad?" Bastila said.

Surik crossed her arms. "If the mines, booby-traps, and wildlife don't get you, the Mandos will. We lose six soldiers per every ten whenever we try to take more territory. Just holding our ground is killing us. They regularly raid our bases. You're not safe here."

"I was hoping to keep her presence here a secret," Revan said. "But now that she's exposed I'm inclined to agree."

Bastila closed her eyes, stretching out to feel the life-forms around her. Even on the ground, it was like she was in a fog. She could not hope to reach the soldiers on the other side of the planet from here. She would be fortunate if she could even reach those on the same base.

"You can't see here, either, can you?" Surik said.

Bastila's eyes opened. "It will be difficult. My range will be very restricted."

"Sir, the best thing you can do is get her back to the fleet."

"She will be no good to us there," Revan said. "The fight is here, whether we like it or not. This is where the outcome of the war will be decided."

Revan rose and began to pace. "I need you to find me two Jedi," he said. "One with my height and build, and another who looks just like Bastila. Do her hair the same. Everything. If you can find a Mandalorian mask that looks like mine, I'd be doubly appreciative. Otherwise, he can have mine."

Bastila raised her eyebrows. "You're not actually-"

"Yes, I am."

"But it's dangerous! They'll be targeted!"

"Better them than you."

She stood up, hands on her hips. "And just why do _you_ need a stunt double?"

"Because I'm not about to have you too far away from me. I made that mistake before at Duros. I won't make it again."

"But being stuffed in a bunker away from you is fine? Or in another room on a ship? If you recall, I've been exercising my ability without your coaching for months now."

"This is different. You'll be in the thick of things, fighting. You'll be vulnerable."

"I can defend myself!"

Revan shook his head vehemently. "Your focus will be split. You'll need someone to look after you. I don't trust anyone but myself at this point."

Bastila pursed her lips, mollified. It maddened her, but he was right.

Revan broke his gaze from Bastila's and turned to Surik. "Where's General Wang?"

Surik fidgeted with her robe. "He, um, got stung by a scorpion in his sleeping bag last night, sir."

Revan's head perked up. "Med station, then?"

"Ah, no, sir. Unless you count the morgue as part of the med station."

Revan let out a curse in what Bastila recognized as Mando'a. An odd language for him to select for curse words, and yet not so odd, when she thought about it. She gathered he would rather pollute the Mandalorians' language than their own.

"Colonel Solo took over for him," Surik continued.

Revan nodded. "Very well. Tell him I won't make the briefing. I need to comm someone."

"Yes, sir."

"Where's the comm station?"

"Not far from the landing pad."

He nodded and picked up his mask from the floor, donning it. He was about to step outside before he turned back to Bastila. "Don't leave this bunker without changing your hair, your clothes, and anything else you can think of."

The door closed behind him. Bastila stared at it, stunned at how terribly wrong everything was going. What good was her Battle Meditation down here? Not only would she have minimal coverage, but she would have to somehow move and even fight at the same time.

"Hey," Surik said, stepping beside her and giving her a quick side hug. "Don't worry about it."

Bastila shook her head. "I only hope I can be of some use down here."

"Of course you will. So don't worry about it."

"Hard not to."

Surik's mouth lifted in a grin. "Well, I've got just the thing to take your mind off it."

She steered the young woman to a pile of boxes in the corner of the bunker. One box stood out from the others. There were conspicuous holes in the sides—the kind that allowed pets to breath.

For the first time in days, Bastila smiled. Revan would never dare prank her again after this. And maybe, just maybe, he would even reprogram T3 to be polite.

**.:.**

After minutes of waiting and having to go through several aides, the glowing image of Senator Stazi appeared on the comm interface. His large, red eyes blinked in recognition.

"Greetings, Revanchist. I am sorry for the wait. I was in a Senate session when you called."

Revan nodded. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you at such an inconvenient time."

The Duro raised a green hand. "Do not worry. They were filibustering anyway. The current speaker is on the letter C in the dictionary. I am grateful to take a break, however short."

Revan grinned beneath his mask before returning to the business at hand. "Have you seen the HoloNet news in the past hour?"

"I read a news feed of it. I did not realize you even had a Padawan learner."

"Only two of my Jedi Generals knew of her gift. Everyone else knew her as my _aide-de-camp_. Even the Navy Admirals."

"And you want to know who leaked the information regarding her special ability?"

"Yes."

"And you are certain it is not one of your Generals?"

"I trust them with my life."

"Could it be possible that someone within the Navy took note?"

"She was always sequestered in a private room when using her gift."

The Duro nodded thoughtfully. "I see."

"Someone gave those reporters the information. At least enough to put them on the trail. I need to know where the leak is."

"I can see what my contacts in the media can find. However, I have my own suspicions."

Revan raised an eyebrow.

"Tell me, Revanchist. Who stands to benefit the most?"

"The Mandalorians?"

"Perhaps that did not translate well. Basic is not my first language. Forgive me."

"No, you're Basic is fine. I'm being cynical."

"It is election season, Revanchist. And the end of the Supreme Chancellor's first term. This year, he must hold onto both his Senate seat and the Chancellorship. Though he is in a strong position as the incumbent, the war is dragging on. The polls show people are very tired of the war. Bored with it, now that the enemy is contained and the people seemingly safe. The Chancellor must boost morale and keep his numbers up. He must remind his constituents that he is a winner."

Revan nodded. "He needs fresh news. But how does sabotaging the war effort help him in the long term? It could destroy him if we lose."

"Yes, but I do not think he believes we will lose the war. Making it last longer only helps him stay in power. People are hesitant to switch leaders in the middle of a war."

"But how do you know it's not someone else? There are many politicians who will benefit."

"Because he has the highest profile, and he is in the best position to find information. His seat comes with much power. Besides, these are only my suspicions."

"Still, how would anyone even know about my Padawan to find the information in the first place? Who leaked it?"

"I do not know. But your Padawan studied under your Order's Grandmaster, yes?"

Revan shook his head. "Master Sunrider would never do that."

"But other Jedi would know she is missing. So would the Supreme Chancellor, if she ever accompanied her Master to the Senate building."

Revan nodded thoughtfully.

"Retrace your steps, Revanchist, and you will find the leak. I will do my best on my end, of course."

"Thank you."

"Before you go, I have some of the information you requested."

"Oh?"

"What I found on the Exchange. Davik Kang has made significant contributions to Senator Merias' campaign. Most of these were well before Taris was liberated."

That had Revan's attention. "Do you know what she owes him in return?"

"I suspect she has already repaid him. Do you recall that she and the Chancellor would not move the Republic fleet besieging Taris to assist you?"

_But why?_ Revan thought. _Why would Davik Kang want..._

"I don't follow," Revan said. "He's a business man, albeit a shady one. Having the Republic fleet continuing its siege only makes his business more difficult."

The Duro tilted his head, his eyes blinking lazily. "Remember economics. Supply and demand."

Then Revan knew. Knew everything. "The price of his illegal goods, particularly those peculiar to Taris, goes up. He continues smuggling as usual. The Mandalorians probably even allow it in exchange for a share of his profits."

The Senator nodded, pleased. "He also has made more recent contributions. The Senate recently had a vote to assist Czerka Corporation in reestablishing trade stations along routes that were previously compromised by the war. All trade routes also benefit the Exchange."

"Might I ask if one of those trade stations is Kashyyyk?"

"Yes, unfortunately. Though the Defense Ministry has been ordered by the Court to assist Czerka anyway."

"Czerka sued?" Revan snorted. Of course they had. Why the Defense Ministry hadn't yet taken Revan to task for that...Well, then again, they couldn't without appearing ridiculous. Taris would not have been liberated without his actions on Kashyyyk.

The Duro interrupted his thoughts. "I must be going, Revanchist. But before I do, I would warn you to be more careful of your actions in the field. The filibuster is to prevent further defunding of the war. I am due to speak on the letter D very soon. Sadly, many Senators now consider the war at a containable state. They would rather focus funding on other things."

"But what does that have to do with my actions? Other than the fact that I have to win the war with less funding, that is."

"You have enemies in the Senate. They are looking for an excuse to rid you of command. Sadly, I fear the Supreme Chancellor himself is siding against you. As you know, I sit on the security committee along with Senator Merias. She has much influence on the Chancellor. She regularly denounces you as a loose cannon. I doubt she truly cares what you do, but you are in her way to more power."

Revan shook his head. "How so?"

"It is no small secret she covets the Chancellorship. Before the war, she and the Chancellor were rivals competing for the seat. She lost."

"I don't understand. She seems to support him."

"Yes, she does. She is even helping his campaign, which of course has made the Chancellor let down his guard. You see, if she sides against him now, she would have no reasonable grounds on which to do so. Their policies are very similar. The only way to differentiate herself would be on the war. She cannot do that as long as the Republic is winning. But if we were to begin losing..."

"She could question his leadership."

"And that is why you are her enemy. You make the Chancellor look good. Which is why you must now be made to look dangerous. The incident with Taris and Zeltros has given her ammunition. Your only saving grace is that you are too popular with the people to be relieved of command."

Force, how Revan hated politics! At least he could comfort himself with one thought: Merias would have to read out of the dictionary today as well, if she wanted to keep looking good.

"I must bid you farewell, Revanchist," the Senator said with a slight bow of his head.

Revan bowed his head in return. "Thank you for your advice. I will be more careful, my friend. Farewell."

The holographic image faded. Revan reached into his pocket, pulling out a plush toy—almost as familiar a friend as the Senator himself. His thumb absentmindedly rubbed its soft stomach as he stared down at it.

The Senator was proving to be the truest of friends, and Revan felt he owed the Duro far more than he could ever repay. He almost cringed whenever he asked the Senator a favor. How could he even impose upon him after the great loss he had suffered? Yet Senator Stazi continued to floor him with his dedication to the Republic. No grief could cripple his efforts. He turned his suffering into purpose—that no one else would have to suffer like he had if he could help it. Unlike so many of his peers, Senator Stazi viewed his seat as a service rather than a career. If the Republic had more leaders like him...

Revan shook himself from his reverie, and pocketed the toy once more. After peeling off his mask and slipping it beneath his robe, he wearily dragged himself outside the communication station. The sky looked gloomier than before now that the sun was beginning to set. When was the last time he had had a full night's sleep? Not that it mattered. He wouldn't be getting much sleep here. Still, even an hour would help him collect his wits. As he strode toward the array of tents that surrounded the makeshift base, he made a mental note to check his sleeping bag for scorpions.

It was with relief that he received his sleeping bag and tent assignment from the oblivious sergeant staffing the quartermaster tent. Revan never slept in anything befitting an officer's station. No, he believed in living at the same standard as the lowest of his men. Even in the fleet, his were cramped quarters, which was contrary to what an admiral or captain would take. The only reason he did not bunk with a roommate aboard the _Ravager_ was because he required a desk on which to do his paperwork, as well as relative quiet.

So it was that he found himself ducking into a low-hanging tent seated amid muddy ground. Cautiously, he scanned the area for anything dangerous. Finding all in order, he unrolled his sleeping bag, careful not to bump his head against the tent pole. He slowly peeled the bag apart, peering into the dark depths for any signs of poisonous creatures.

He let out a relieved breath. Kicking off his boots, he crawled inside, zipping the snug bag closed around him. It felt good to lie back and close his eyes, even if the ground beneath him was a bit squishy and cold. His breathing settled, his mind calming from its usual turbulence.

Something tickled his chest. Mosquito? He paid it no heed. Rest. Oh how he relished rest!

Bristles brushed his chin. Not a mosquito. His eyes snapped open. He felt more bristles across his neck and face, as well as a weight settling atop his chest. His body froze as an irrational terror gripped him. No, it couldn't be what he thought it was.

The full weight of the creature rested across his chest now. Shakily, his breath held, he raised his head to confirm his worst fear.

Spidery legs, unblinking eyes, hairy exoskeleton—a medium-sized kinrath pup.

Revan's irrational instincts took over before his Jedi control could restrain him. He screamed, his arms wildly swatting the creature from his chest. It hissed as it scurried away, over his legs and out of the tent.

It was with deep gasps that he recovered his breath, his rational thinking returning at last. And over his frantic breathing he heard the melodious—almost mad—laughter of a woman.

A chuckle escaped his lips. Oh, Bastila Shan had paid him back tenfold!


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: I hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas. Good news! The world didn't end! Silly Mayans...

Anyway, thanks for the reviews, everyone. We're almost at 200! Wow! I must say I'm very flattered! Thank you, one and all.

Now for my usual apology: I'm sorry for the long wait. Call it writer's block. Yes, I have the entire story plotted, but that doesn't mean that typing one sentence after the next doesn't become difficult. It's probably due to burnout. I'm trying to get my mojo back. Sometimes taking a break is all it takes.

Also, I realized I made a terrible mistake in my last chapter. Two people felt that the plot was sagging. I think the root cause is that I did not include the first scene of this chapter as originally planned. The scene wasn't ready at the time, and I didn't have the heart to make you guys wait longer while I finished it. However, that meant that the prior chapter had no cliffhanger and no real conflict—the kind of conflict that gives the sense the plot is moving forward and that the story has a purpose. Even in this chapter, there is a scene I am postponing for next time so I can give you guys a chapter now rather than later. At least this chapter should still cliff-hang slightly better than the last. The next chapter will pick up. I promise. In fact, it's going to explode with action. So keep your arms inside at all times, and enjoy the ride!

**CHAPTER 16**

_Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit._

A Dxun blood fly whizzed through the air, circling its prey. Slowly, hesitantly, it hovered closer, the scent of human skin and the blood that flowed beneath it too scrumptious to ignore, yet the possibility of choosing its prey poorly too dangerous to accept. It inched closer, only to flit away.

And yet, its prey did not move.

It braved another inch.

Still, its prey did not move. It could have passed for an inorganic stone if not for its unmistakable scent.

The fly now swooped in towards the human's ear, perhaps considering it as a warm, moist place in which to lay its eggs after it feasted.

And its prey did not move.

The fly landed on the human's neck, its bite sinking into the skin, drawing blood in thirsty gulps.

And still its prey did not move.

Satiated, the fly took off, its wings humming happily as it strained to lift its bloated body into the air. It circled one last time to find the moist place again to lay its eggs.

A hand shot out, fingers deftly snatching the fly. Mandalore stared down at the grotesque creature, pinning it only enough to keep it from escaping, but not enough to crush it. Then, with a vengeance, he began to slowly squeeze. The legs squirmed. The fly popped, blood splattering over his gauntlets.

Mandalore casually wiped the remains on the seat of the Basilisk droid upon which he sat, and finally turned his attention to the kneeling figure on the muddy ground below.

Cassus had still kept his head lowered, awaiting acknowledgment. Mandalore almost enjoyed making him wait. After all, waiting was not his son's forte. Mandalore, however, could outwait the very sun to die if he could live so long. It disappointed him that his very own son was not of the same stock.

He tilted his masked visage at his son, considering at last acknowledging his presence. Leaving him kneeling in the mud appealed to him, but at the same time he had always hoped his son would rise above the mud. Until then, as always, he would have to spur the boy on, and hope.

"Rise," he said at last.

Cassus lifted himself up, the mud sucking at his knees as he did so. Even the boy's hair—so much like his mother's—was mussed with dirt and grime, and only because Mandalore forced him to dig in with their troops in the trenches rather than command from the comfort of a Basilisk droid. Oh yes, he had stripped his own son of the position of field marshal. Surprisingly, the resentment was at long last gone from his eyes. Eyes so much like his mother's, now that they were empty of that feral glint. His son's gaze sent a pang of sorrow through the older man's chest. One of loss, but also of hope. Had Cassus accepted his role? Perhaps he would become an honorable Mandalorian yet.

"Mandalore," Cassus said, "I have information to report."

Mandalore nodded.

"Revan has brought with him his secret weapon."

Mandalore let out an exasperated breath. "I have seen the HoloNet news as well, General Fett."

"Forgive me, Mandalore. I mean to say, Revan is not longer leading his Mercy Corp battalion, and has taken his weapon with him."

Mandalore raised an eyebrow at that, though his son could not see it behind his golden mask. "He was sighted at the Republic encampment, and in the raid but days ago."

"It is not Revan. It is merely a boy in disguise. As is the girl."

"And you know this _how_? Surely you did not brave the terrors of the jungle alone to spy upon their encampment?"

Cassus' jaw clenched, almost imperceptibly.

"I see. You have been communicating with Davik Kang."

The boy silently held his gaze, though Mandalore could tell he wanted to avert his eyes. Few other Mandalorians would dare such a direct challenge—his spoiled-brat son unfortunately among them.

"I expressly forbade you from using his services," Mandalore said, his words leaving no room for argument. "He expects services rendered in return. Our honor is not for sale. Nor are his methods of acquiring information honorable."

Cassus sniffed. "Yes, Mandalore. I will resort to torturing captured prisoners instead."

"Hold your tongue! I am Mandalore! You remember that, unless you wish to suffer the same tortures you inflict. Don't think I haven't heard of your brutality."

_Fool boy_, Mandalore thought. Extracting information from prisoners was the ultimate test of loyalty—a chance for them to display honor, which all opponents deserved. Though even Cassus distorted its purpose, beating prisoners when they were beyond the ability to speak or comprehend the questions asked. Mostly he failed to even ask questions. But spying—what did that prove? How could honor be gained from either side?

Cassus at last diverted his gaze, his head bowing, his tongue in check for the time being.

"Now," Mandalore continued, "who is the spy that Davik Kang has planted?"

"He would not say, Mandalore," Cassus said, his head still bowed. "But I assure you the information he has provided is both true and too valuable to ignore."

Mandalore sucked in a sharp breath. "I take it he told you more than what you have told me."

Cassus nodded, finally lifting his gaze once more. "We have their battle plans. Revan himself and his decoy will be uniting to launch an assault on the power conduits north of the Demon Pass."

"But?"

"They are launching other assaults in tandem. One on the Demon Pass itself, and another through the hills to the north."

Mandalore nodded. A three-pronged attack to unbalance them. Still, he did not wish to assume this was all Revan was up to, even with whatever spy Davik Kang had provided. After all, Revan was a brilliant strategist, and as aggressive as any Mandalorian. At times, he even wondered if Revan and Cassus had been switched at birth. Oh, what he would give to have such a man for a son!

Instead, he would have to kill him. Though he would relish the challenge and glory, it would be a bittersweet victory. If, of course, Revan didn't kill him first. He gazed down at his gauntleted hands, tightening them into fists. They were wrinkled beneath the fabric, and rough. But they still possessed much of their old strength. Would it be enough? How long had it been since he had fought such a warrior? So many years...And Revan was rumored to be very young. He would have to plan carefully. If he could not win by mere strength, then he would have to win by his wits—a lesson he hoped to pass to his son.

Finally, victory was in sight. The Mandalorian within was eagerly anticipating the impending battle. But there was another side to him that was tired. He knew it was only a matter of time before the Republic overran them in their fortress. They had the momentum now. Mandalore had only slowed their advance. He wondered, when they inevitably withdrew, would the Republic show their home worlds mercy? They surely did not deserve it. No, Cassus, along with his other more bloodthirsty generals, had seen to it by their own conduct.

He gazed into the distant trees. They would come, and the Mandalorians would know shame at last. And where was the promised help, after all the service they had rendered? For whom had they really fought? Themselves? For their honor? And how had they kept their honor? He himself had failed to restrain his own son's brutality. What had they become? Dogs fighting for scraps at their master's table. And for what? Honor for the sake of honor? So many had died. Was honor remembered from the grave? Would his own son be among the dead?

_No_, he thought. He dared not think such thoughts. He was Mandalore. He belonged to no clan and no kin, nor even to his own son, but to all Mandalorians. And while he knew now that the Republic would eventually win, he did not have to make it easy for them. Whether they received aid or not, he would finish what he started. For he was Mandalore.

He dismounted, the droid whirring as it powered down. "Come," Mandalore said. "We have much to plan."

**.:.**

Bastila gazed up at the lone figure on the Basilisk droid. The disguise was thorough—robe, gauntlets, hooded visage, and mask. The only thing that gave away the disguise was the almost teenager-like voice that cracked—no, squeaked—beneath the mask.

"Are you sure these things are safe?" the boy said, his voice almost high-pitched as he slid around on the droid's seat.

"Bao-Dur reprogrammed it himself. You'll be just fine!" A woman, Bastila's age, stood nearby, bearing a striking resemblance to Bastila—brown hair in two braided pigtails, gray eyes, Jedi robes...Even her accent was distinctively Talravinian, so much so that Bastila could not distinguish whether she truly hailed from Talravin or was merely performing a remarkable imitation. Bastila could only pray this woman never committed a murder and framed her for it. At least Bastila had one advantage—she had fully traded places with the Corporal, from her hair being in a neat bun, to her military-issue sun glasses, and finally down to her green fatigues. The only giveaway that she was a Jedi, if one were observant, would be the cylindrical shape tucked under her jacket—her new lightsaber, which she had constructed months before after she lost her original on Kashyyyk.

"Um, Corporal, how do I get back down? I really need to pee."

The woman rolled her eyes. "You should have done that earlier, Master Jedi."

"I did!"

"Okay, just practice your big move one more time, and I'll let you down."

The Padawan snapped into action, whipping out his lightsaber, igniting it, and holding it high—a beacon of hope that the entire field of battle would see. And a big, glowing target for every Mandalorian to focus fire on, Bastila thought. It was a miracle the nervous Padawan hadn't pointed his lightsaber in the wrong direction while lighting it.

"Perfect! Now, to get down, just put your left foot on that stirrup there..."

The lad—he couldn't even have been nearly eighteen yet—cautiously tested the "stirrup," his foot sliding when the Basilisk reared its dragon-like head, almost bucking him off. He slid, his arms flailing to hold onto the safety bar.

"Don't wish too hard to get off," Bastila said. "Remember, its neural connection to your mind senses your thoughts. It might grant your wish."

The boy slowly lowered himself, gripping the bar with what were probably white knuckles beneath his gauntlets. The droid calmed as he calmed, and at last he touched the ground without harm, albeit shakily.

"See?" Bastila said. "Master your fears, and you will master the droid."

"Y-yes, Master," the boy said.

"Please. _Commander_," she said, a hand raised in supplication.

"Of-of course, Commander." He bowed quickly, and ran out of the hangar to take care of his business.

Bastila couldn't help but let the corner of her lip curl in a slight smile. Of course, she was only a Padawan herself, but she liked to think she had come a long way. Even Master Sunrider had hinted in prior communiques that she would soon take her trials. It only made sense that Bastila mentor the younger Padawans. After all, they would call her Master legitimately soon enough.

She turned to Corporal Quinn, her "stunt double." "Don't worry. He'll pull through. I'll make sure of it."

Corporal Quinn straightened. "Yes, Ma'am. Though your abilities aside, you'll have to pardon me if I make doubly sure." She lovingly patted a blaster tucked neatly beneath her robes.

Bastila furrowed her brow. "Of course. Just stay safe out there."

"Don't worry, Ma'am. I'll make you look good." She clicked her heels together, and began to salute, before remembering the ruse and giving a slight Jedi-like bow.

Bastila snapped a perfect salute, however, almost as an inside joke to herself. With a broad smile, she walked out of the makeshift hangar, making her way between the various tents and vehicles. The sun had finally risen, its heat already beating through the suffocating clouds, creating a steamy sauna. She could feel sweat seeping through her fatigues.

Her feet ached, having marched through the mud for two weeks. Here was their new staging ground to attack the power conduits to the east. If she was to rest, now would be the time to do it. Revan kept her busy. There was always too much to do. But thankfully, she could squeeze in a few hours before noon. She had been up all night with Bao-Dur preparing the Basilisk droid, after all.

Grateful for this small window of time to sleep, she crawled into her tent and laid down on top of the sleeping bag, not even bothering to remove her boots and slide between the covers. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore her aching feet. Sleep claimed her, though uneasily. There were always noises. In the distance, a jungle cat growled amid the tree branches (hopefully not above her). Then there was the stomp of battle droids and the churning gears of tanks rolling into position. But she had learned to shut those things out or even enfold them into her dreams. Of course, there was always the lingering fear of retribution from Revan, in the form of something with more than two legs crawling into her tent. But she had been able to relax better lately, as it seemed Revan was through with his pranks.

It might have been only a few minutes, or even a few hours, but the next thing she knew was a splash of water deluging her face. Her eyes shot open, and she sputtered. Revan knelt at the front of the tent, an empty canteen in his hand.

"Force!" Bastila said. "Can't you let me sleep even a few hours?"

"Well, I don't get to sleep," he said. "How is that fair?" With that, he gave her a mischievous grin and crawled out of the tent. She heard him call out, "Just be glad I didn't wake you up with something creepy crawly."

He always did this to her. In the fleet, he would often wake her whenever he couldn't sleep, and drag her off to spar, especially when they hadn't managed to keep to their morning routine. It was his way of clearing his head, and making her suffer with him. Now it appeared he was resuming his old habit, even in the middle of the jungle.

She groggily crawled out of the tent, wiping the water off her face with her sleeve. Revan was already making his way down the row of tents. Shaking her head, she followed after him. He led her to the perimeter of the encampment. Bastila paused for a moment. It was dangerous to leave the encampment with all the wild beasts prowling in the jungle. Then again, where else would they get the privacy they needed to train? She reached for her lightsaber, gripping it hard, and followed.

Fortunately, their destination was not far. They hiked down the encampment's hillside to a small river, its shallow water flowing happily amid a bed of small stones. It was one of the few water sources they had found that was safe to drink. Most other river beds had still water, filled with leeches and slime. Bastila stepped into the middle of the river bed, where Revan had halted. The water flowed around her boots up to her ankles. The stones beneath her shifted slightly, but at least they weren't overly slimy. She planted her feet as firmly as she could.

"Before we begin," Revan said, "I thought you should know that I just finished a holocall with Master Sunrider before I woke you."

Bastila raised an eyebrow. Could they really have...? No, surely not so soon. And yet, she was ready, wasn't she?

"She was asking for my input regarding your trials."

She held her breath, waiting for him to continue.

"Do you feel ready for them?" he asked.

This was an unexpected question. What Jedi Master ever asked his Padawan what she felt? Either he thought she was ready, or he didn't. Yet here Revan was, asking _her_. Oh, she was definitely ready!

She suppressed the grin that threatened to spread across her face. Slowly, she nodded her head. "I am as ready as I can be, Master."

"I see," Revan said. He rolled a stone beneath him with his foot, the water sloshing slightly. "Then I'm sorry to say I had to tell Master Sunrider you aren't ready."

With those few words, Bastila's heart stopped beating, a momentary confusion stunning her into a statue. It was as though Revan had walked up to her and mugged her. Her mind churned over a hundred different emotions, desperately trying to cope with this unexpected outcome. Then one fist tightened, and the other. Slowly, she let out a breath.

One question left her lips. "Why?" she asked quietly, her voice trembling ever so slightly.

"You lack patience," Revan said nonchalantly, as though he were merely discussing the consistency of oatmeal.

_She_ lacked patience? He, of all people, thought he had the right to judge her character traits? After the way he had defied the Jedi Council in his own impatience? And how had she not been patient? A quiet rage was building her her chest. She took a deep breath, desperately trying to calm herself.

"Padawan," Revan said, "did you have something to say?"

"Nothing, Master," she said, her throat tight.

"Very well," he said. "Shall we?" He withdrew his lightsaber, igniting it.

Shakily, Bastila ignited her own, her mind still fuming. He was wrong. Absolutely wrong. Why had he done this to her? What had she done wrong to deserve such treatment? If she had done something wrong, why hadn't he already corrected her? Why now? Why punish her? What did he mean she didn't have patience? Of course she did!

Revan swung the first blow. Bastila blocked it. One of the few pleasant discoveries she had had in this war was that she was one of the few Jedi who could make Revan break a sweat during a duel. It had taken a long time to get to that point—many, many painful training sessions—but she had improved, even besting him several times. But now, just besting him wasn't enough. No, she wanted to show him the humiliation he'd given her.

Even in her frustration, however, a sliver of control constrained her from acting on her emotions. Instead, she met Revan's blows with controlled motions, struggling to keep her focus on the fight itself. He landed blows, and she countered with her own.

"Focus," Revan said, their sabers clashing with a screech.

Inside, she seethed at that word. She _was _focused, and she would prove it. She jumped over a swipe from his saber, and swept her own upward to strike at his shoulder. Revan blocked her blow, unbalancing her. She staggered back to recover her balance.

But Revan wasn't about to let her do that. He ran into her, driving her back. With a flick of his spare wrist, he sent a Force wave that flung her into the water, knocking the wind out of her.

She slowly lifted herself to rest on her elbows, sucking in a sharp breath that didn't seem to fill her lungs.

"Well," Revan said. "You clearly aren't in a mindset to spar today. Perhaps later when you've calmed down?" With that, he extinguished his lightsaber and walked away, the water sloshing around his boots.

Bastila picked herself up. Water soaked her clothes now, but she didn't care. She didn't even feel the wet cloth on her back. There was only one thought in her mind now.

She wanted to hack his limbs off.

In a snap moment, she gave into that inclination, her hand stretching out to receive her lightsaber from the water. She charged at Revan, aiming to strike at his backside.

But just as she was upon him, he turned, wielding not one, but two lightsabers. Even as he dodged her intended blow, a violet lightsaber blade blocked hers, his other blue blade swinging low at her legs. In a blink his saber, set to training mode, burned through her legs, even as his other saber disarmed her. She stumbled as he followed through with a sweep of his leg, and felt his hand punch her in the back with a saber hilt. Her ankle twisted as she fell down to her knees, the rocks in the river bed cutting through her pants and skin. But she didn't feel it. She only felt the searing pain in her ankle.

"You moron!" she cried. "You broke my ankle!"

Instead of rushing up to her to inspect her injury, as she would have expected, he merely hovered over her, extinguishing his sabers.

"Maybe you should have set your lightsaber to training mode," he said. "You could have hacked my limbs off. But that was your intent, wasn't it?"

Of course she had set her lightsaber to training mode! Hadn't she? She grimaced as another wave of pain shot up her leg.

"I didn't mean to-"

"Oh, yes you did. And now you've only proven my point. You're not ready. Not by a long shot."

What was this? Some sort of ridiculous test to get her to lose her temper?

"Why?" Bastila sobbed, her voice shaking with pent up anger and pain. "I did everything you asked! I worked myself _ragged _for you! And I've done more than _you _ever did as a Padawan." Without even thinking, she grabbed a stone and threw it at him. It missed, but she didn't care if it did or not. Her ankle pulsed sharply. She sat back on the rocks with a sob of pain and frustration.

Revan was kneeling before her now, untying her wet boot laces. She winced, shrinking back.

"Don't touch me!"

He raised a supplicating hand. "Let me take a look," he said, the coldness leaving his voice at last.

Slowly, she relaxed, wincing again as he gently slid the boot off her foot. It felt more like he was ripping it off, and her foot with it, but she bit her lip. However, she could hold back no longer when his fingers felt around her sock.

"Moron," she said through gritted teeth. "You broke it."

"It's only sprained," Revan said. He took her boot in his hand moved to crouch to her side, maneuvering under her arm to lift her up. "Come on. I'd hate to leave you here to be eaten. I don't like the sound of that growl."

_Growl?_ She strained her ears. Sure enough, a low rumbling seemed to fall from the tree limbs above her. She leaned on Revan as he pulled her up, gritting her teeth as her ankle protested.

"You're still a moron," she muttered, hopping on one foot with a splash as Revan gently led her. It was a long trek back, one hop at a time, with a strained silence between them. Revan finally carried her when she could no longer hop up the hillside. She grudgingly clung to his neck. They at last reached the the medic station, where a medical droid wrapped her ankle and gave her a kolto shot. Revan disappeared while she changed into another set of dry fatigues and lay down on a cot. When he returned, he brought with him a bag of ice.

She met him with stony silence, but that didn't deter him. He pulled up a chair and sat beside her, gently laying the bag on her ankle.

"Are you ready to talk?" he asked.

She sat up against her pillow, crossing her arms. "Do I have a choice?"

"If there wasn't a choice, I wouldn't have asked."

She clenched her jaw, residual anger flaming back to life. "You have no right to do this. Not after the way _you've_ defied the Council." She refused to look at him, and kept her gaze fixed on her leg.

"That may be. But have you perhaps considered hearing my reasons? You see, I think I know why you are truly upset. You tell me if I'm right or not."

She quietly listened, her curiosity piqued, but she still kept her eyes on her leg.

"I know I promised that you would take your trials in a year. Now, to be fair, it hasn't quite been a year yet."

A fist tightened, but she said nothing.

"You're trying to beat my record. Youngest Padawan to take the trials."

"And you're too petty to let me, I take it?" She shifted her gaze to meet his eyes, as though she had scored a point.

Revan shook his head. "No, I have nothing against your beating my record. I just...I expect more from you, because I know you can."

She turned her gaze back to her leg. "And how haven't I given you enough?" she said bitterly. "In what way have I failed you?"

"Failed? No. Disappointed? Yes. You struck in anger today. And it is an underlying problem in you that has been going on for a very long time. You are arrogant and impatient."

Her shoulders slumped at that. She'd let anger and frustration get the best of her. She was ready to acknowledge that now. Any Jedi Master would have been horrified at her response. So would the entire Council, once they heard about it. If Revan reported it, it would be a black mark on her record for the rest of her life. Not even Revan, for all his disobedience, had ever done such a thing.

She felt a hand lightly touch her shoulder.

"Bastila, it's only a title," Revan said softly.

She flinched, and he withdrew his hand in response. "You think I don't know that?"

"Then why do you work so hard for it? It's as though it's the only thing that matters to you."

"That's not true," she said, frowning.

"Then prove it to me. Why are you really here?"

She glanced up at him at last, her eyes questioning.

"Why did you come here? Why do you fight in this war?"

"To defend the Republic," she said, shaking her head as though the answer were obvious.

"No, that's not it. Be honest with me. Why are you here?"

"I...Of course that's the reason!"

"Then prove it to me. Tell me what your double's name is."

"Corporal Quinn, of course!"

"What's her first name?"

"I...Don't be ridiculous! This has nothing to do with anything!"

"Have you forgotten our first debate? The Republic is people. What's her first name?"

"She never told me!"

"What's _my_ double's name? I know he's said it in front of you."

Her face was reddening now. "Padawan...Padawan...Look, I'm not good with names!"

"Yes you are," he said, his voice no longer gentle. "You're one of the most brilliant people I know. I've watched you recite long lists of requisition items from rote. You just didn't give a Hutt about him, or Corporal _Julia_ Quinn, for that matter."

"That's not fair!"

"Why are you really here?" he pressed.

Bastila ran a hand over her hair. His point was beginning to sink in, and she didn't like it one bit. "Because...because you dragged me here," she said, her voice softer now, though filled with a twinge of resentment. She fixed cold eyes on him. "And now I'm going to be punished for not agreeing with you."

Revan touched her shoulder again.

"I can't blame you for not wanting to be here," he said, "but I can blame you for your conduct. The Jedi Council supports the war, and has asked you here to protect our people fighting it. But you're not fighting for them; you're fighting for your own gain."

Bastila shook her head, biting her lip.

"Bastila, listen to me. It's only a title. You can still conduct yourself as a Knight without being called one. A true Jedi Knight shows compassion and concern for the people around her. I know I've told you to see them as numbers, but if this is the result, then I repent of it. Just because they must be seen as numbers, doesn't mean they don't have names worth remembering—that they aren't people worth knowing and honoring."

Bastila was stricken with silence, for his words had cut her very heart. They were true. All of them. Mere hours ago, she'd had the audacity to lecture a Padawan, but hadn't had the decency to remember his name. He was, if she were honest, a courageous young man—perhaps even more courageous than she—to volunteer to ride atop a finicky Basilisk droid as a human target for which every Mandalorian on the field would aim. He would likely die on that field, and she couldn't even remember his name. She had been so focused on herself, on her own work, on being the best, that she'd forgotten to focus on others.

"I..." Bastila's voice cracked. She couldn't even look Revan in the eye now. "I'm sorry. For everything."

"I know that you have that compassion within you," Revan said, squeezing her shoulder. "I've seen it. Remember it. Make it the motivation for all your duties. Compassion is contrary to pride. Lay down your life for others, and let the title come when it comes."

She nodded, swallowing a knot in her throat. Quietly, Revan left, though she barely noticed. He'd given her much to contemplate. She let herself sleep for an hour while the kolto did its work, their conversation playing in her head.

It was several hours and several shots of kolto until she could attempt to put weight on her ankle again. When she tried, it still hurt, but the pain wasn't excruciating as it had been before. Boredom having settled in, she left amid the medical droid's preprogrammed protests, limping to the comm station. Oh yes, she still had her duties to perform. It was her shift to man the comm station, as that was Corporal Quinn's normal work. Granted, a sprained ankle might get her out of it, but Bastila wasn't one to combat boredom with idle activities.

After much hobbling, Bastila finally reached the comm station. The comm operator on duty offered his chair, a concern for Bastila's limp creasing his brow.

"It's quite all right," Bastila said, and sat down with relief, smiling her thanks. "You should see the other bloke."

The man—Corporal _Drayson_, she thought, trying to remember his name—merely chuckled and signed out, leaving her alone to her duties.

She placed a pair of headphones over her ears. Over the past few weeks, Bastila had learned much about radios and comm units. While the computer did most of the deciphering, it was the operator's duty to determine what to do with the information. Most decisions involved trivial routing of data and relaying of transmissions to the next comm station, for the signal could only travel as far as their power supply allowed. The mobile comm stations could output less power than that of their landing site. In fact, the landing site possessed the only station with enough power to output the signal into space to the fleet. Any holocalls to the fleet thus experienced delays as each packet was routed from station to station to the landing site.

Bastila was about an hour into this tedious work, and her eyelids were beginning to droop, when a screech of static stabbed through her headphones. Quickly, she lowered the volume, and listened, watching the computer's processor lights blink overtime.

An encrypted message.

And it was not the Republic's, or the computer would have already turned the static into discernible language. She noticed it seemed to repeat itself, and then stopped. The computer lights, however, continued to blink rapidly. Minutes passed, and she was uncertain whether the computer could crack the message. She was on the verge of contacting Bao-Dur when the lights stopped. Text filled her computer display. Four words stood out.

Demon Pass. Surik. _Mandalore_.

Bastila snatched up her personal commlink, hailing Revan.

"Revan? We've just intercepted a message. They're attacking Demon Pass. Now."

Silence lay on the other end, until a garbled voice finally responded. "Well, what are you going to do about it?"

But Revan could not stump her anymore with these kinds of questions. She knew what Revan would want to do. She had sat in enough dry meetings with him, or attended enough of them in his stead, or simply put up with his long lectures for all the times she had answered him incorrectly. He would drop everything—all his preparations to assault the power conduits—to reinforce Surik and trap Mandalore in a pincer movement.

"We're moving out," she said, with absolutely no hesitation lacing her voice.

"Well what are you waiting for? Move!" And with that, Revan disconnected.

Bastila rose from her seat with a wry smile. He was probably already barking at the army officers and Jedi commanders to move out. In fact, as she stepped outside, she noticed the camp was beginning to bustle more than usual, people dashing here and there, though in a disciplined fashion. Yes, he'd barked his orders. Now she had to bark hers.

But before she did, she had one thing to make right. She hobbled towards the hangar, where she found a certain young Padawan trying to mount his Basilisk droid so he could move out. This time, Bastila gave him a leg up.

"Thank you, Commander Shan," he said in his cracking, teenager voice.

"You're welcome," she said. "I...I'm afraid I've forgotten your name. I'm so sorry. Could you remind me again?"


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to General George S. Patton (and to George C. Scott, who played the role so well).

**CHAPTER 17**

_Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit._

Revan lay against the side of the muddy trench, peering over the sandbags through his binoculars. Below, the Demon Pass stretched through the treacherous mountains, a rare patch of Dxun devoid of trees, but littered with slippery rocks. It was the perfect location for an ambush. Of course, an ambush should not have been a problem. Revan's original plan was to lure the Mandalorians' attention to his assault on the power conduits, or further north towards the planned assault on the Mandalorian outpost. Instead, Mandalore had attacked first.

Now, after two days of marching through the foothills with the mountains to his right, he'd finally found Surik's group pinned on the sides of the ravine, using their elevation as their only advantage against the Basilisk droids and armored vehicles marching along the ravine floor. He could see her even now as he zoomed in with his binoculars. She was waving her lightsaber towards the next Basilisk she wanted targeted with their cannons. He smiled as she tossed a thermal detonator below. Down further, he could see the army's own former Colonel Solo, now made a Brigadier General, firing his rifle from behind a sandbag and reminding Revan why it was he'd grown to like the old chap. Mandalorian fighters flew overhead, providing cover fire for their advance. But soon, the Republic would be able to counter with their own air strikes. Revan only needed to wait for the Mandalorians' air turrets at the outpost east of the ravine—Surik's original intended target—to be destroyed.

Revan casually waved his arm. At that slight signal, his group advanced over the hill towards the ravine, albeit slowly. He watched and waited. Finally, the Basilisk droids began to swivel and turn away from Surik, and stomp back up the way they came. That was how Revan knew they'd been spotted—which was exactly what he intended.

Mandalore wasn't about to be pinned between two forces in the ravine, with Revan firing at him from above. No, he was turning his forces to leave the ravine and climb up to where he was, in a move that would leave Surik little time to reach him.

Revan chuckled. "Mandalore, you magnificent spawn of a Hutt! I read your book!"

"Will you pipe down already?"

Revan lowered his binoculars and stared down at the woman in muddy fatigues next to him. She was lying against a sandbag, her eyes closed. She might have appeared to be a derelict soldier taking a nap, but he knew better. Bastila was working as hard as anyone on the field, if not harder.

"I'll tell the Mandalorians to stop making so much noise with their bombshells," he quipped.

"Shhh!"

"Spoil sport," he muttered, and returned to staring out with his binoculars. To his other side, a droid beeped happily, tipping itself side to side. "See? T3 agrees."

"Wait. What book?"

"Shhh!" Revan mimicked. He stole a quick glance at Bastila, who still had her eyes closed, but was now frowning, as though having a bad dream. "He published his memoirs on the Exar Kun War. I managed to procure a copy. Now quit chatting and get back to work."

He heard her huff, and smiled to himself. Zooming out of the ravine with his binoculars, he watched his "stunt double" ride his Basilisk droid into battle, his lightsaber ablaze. Not far away, he could see embedded reporters aiming their holocams at the poor boy. As much as he envied the chance to ride a Basilisk, he didn't envy the attention. The reporters would probably get in the way if not for the marines and Jedi surrounding them.

T3 was also peering out to the ravine. The droid was a muddy mess, but Revan had his reasons for bringing him along on the march. In particular, you could always trust a droid to do what you told it to. After all, Revan had reprogrammed it himself. In fact, it could obey his commands in the most creative ways, now that he had installed several cutting-edge software packages. But more importantly, he had armed it with a flamethrower and blaster, making him a faithful body guard to protect Bastila. Until he knew who the schutta was who leaked Bastila's existence to the press corp, he had no choice but to limit his circle of trust.

An explosion rippled through the air—the signal Revan had been waiting for. Yes, the air turret had been dispatched. He reached for his commlink.

"Base camp, this is General Revan. Deploy air strikes when ready."

Now they would see which side had the air superiority. He watched through his binoculars as the two sides collided below, his own group running down the slope to meet the Basilisks, which had barely escaped the ravine mouth. Surik's group held their position, however. For that, Revan was grateful. Their elevated footing above the ravine was the better position. If Revan could push Mandalore back into the ravine, the trap would be complete.

The distant sound of whizzing air and engines grew steadily louder. A bombshell dropped, forcing him to cover his ears. Laser fire bombarded the ground. Mandalore's fighters met theirs, a dogfight ensuing in the air above. Below, Mandalore's lines were breaking. Revan signaled his reserves to move forward and ensure the enemy had nowhere else to go but back into the ravine. Everything was perfect.

And that's when everything went wrong.

Even as his reserves flooded toward the mouth of the ravine, the ravine shook with explosions, rocks and boulders falling everywhere. The ground beneath the troops erupted, sending soldiers and Jedi alike flying like rag dolls. His commlink came to life with the sound of panicked voices. And then Mandalore himself rode forward on his Basilisk droid, his golden mask blazing in the sunlight, a flaming torch held in his right hand. Revan's stomach turned as he watched Mandalore throw the torch to the ground. A wall of fire sprang alive, the flames hungrily licking both the trees and the soldiers. Horror gripped him as he helplessly watched humanoid firebrands flail their arms as they ran.

Revan could only remember one time when he ever felt hate. He had been on the Cathar home world, and had seen a horrid vision—defenseless people ruthlessly massacred by the very brutes who stood here now. Then, he had gained control over it. It was only a vision. But here, with the screams even reaching him at his perch, and the scent of charred flesh wafting at his nostrils, he could not wish the feeling away. Mandalore would die today. He would pay for his war crimes. Revan would crush his neck personally.

He flung the binoculars to the ground, and picked up his commlink once more.

"Fall back!" he shouted. "Keep to the treeline away from the ravine! Base camp, I need another air strike. And get me a medical evac shuttle."

But things were moving too fast. Even without his binoculars, Revan could see the Basilisk droids march through the wall of fire, their shields protecting them from the surging flames. The Republic's armored vehicles rolled up to meet them, and Jedi took point to lead the charge against the Mandalorians on the ground, buying more time for the soldiers to retreat to more elevated footing. Lightsabers clashed with vibroblades in a colorful display. And Mandalore was at the forefront, waving his vibroblade.

No, he wasn't waving for show. He was targeting. _Targeting what?_

Revan's eyes snapped to the lone boy on his Basilisk droid, bravely (or foolishly) steering the beast-like machine into the heat of the battle.

_No!_

He reached for his commlink again, but it was too late. A missile sped through the air, and then everything below was clouded with smoke.

Revan fumbled for his binoculars, and peered down, searching for both the boy and Bastila's double, who would not have been much farther from him. All he could see as the smoke cleared was broken bodies. Whatever wasn't broken was running. The lines were beginning to break. Even the courageous marines and calmest Jedi were falling back.

He heard a meek voice.

"Revan," Bastila said.

He looked down at her, his breathing hard as his mind churned to find a way for all of them to survive this. He saw that her eyes were open now. Had she given up as well?

"He's dead, isn't he?"

He made no reply. _Breath_. _Stay calm_. _We can fix this._

"I can't make them stop running. We need to fall back."

_Fall back?_ The thought made his insides churn. An anger rose from their depths.

"No," he said, his voice cold.

"Revan?"

But he wasn't listening. "Stay here," he said, and got up. T3 was protesting alongside Bastila now. He gave the droid a quick pat on its chassis. "Keep her safe."

"You're insane!"

He ran down the slope, igniting both his lightsabers. Soldiers were laying down cover fire as they ran, but he ignored them. All he could see now was the broken Basilisk droid. _Where is the boy?_

He rushed to the lump of bloodied Jedi robes, rolling the body over. Blaster fire whizzed past his head, and the stomp of Basilisk droids drew closer. He dragged the body behind the smoldering heap of the Basilisk droid, and gripped the boy to himself. He was still breathing, though faintly.

"Ben?" Revan gently peeled off the mask to see the lad's blood-streaked face. His eyes fluttered open, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

A bloodied smile stretched across the boy's face. He tried to say something, but only a fit of violent coughing came out. Revan grabbed his gauntleted hand in his, giving it a squeeze.

"You're going to be fine," he said. But he knew it was a lie. They both did.

Revan felt him squeeze his hand back, just ever so slightly. Then it fell limp, and his eyes stared blankly at him.

Rage filled him, and his entire body shook. He did not linger any longer. He drew his hood over his head, and then snapped the mask to his face. Blaster fire littered the air around him as he rose, and yet none of it miraculously hit him. It was as though it all bent around him, the laser beams too afraid to touch him in his state of rage.

Blue and violet lightsabers ignited with an angry hiss, and he charged toward the wall of Basilisk droids.

"Rally to me!" Revan shouted, over and over. At first Jedi and soldier alike looked upon him with shock. Then as he flung himself into the fray of Mandalorian ground soldiers, their shock turned to disbelief. They didn't believe it was him. Revan was dead, and some Jedi imposter was going to get himself killed trying to save a lost battle. No, it was the way he fought that turned their disbelief to courage. For though he fought alone, he fought as an entire army.

The Mandalorians in his path launched rockets, fired blasters, and cast nets to stop him, but to no avail. He sent a wave of energy at them that bore all the force of a thousand concussion grenades. Those that were not crushed against the boulders and trees met his lightsabers. His blades burned through their armor. If anything hit him, he didn't feel it. Soon more lightsabers joined his. He heard shouts of his name, "Revan!" But he didn't care. His eyes focused on but one thing: Mandalore. All obstacles fell before him, so that he could reach his old nemesis.

As Revan ran through another Mandalorian, he caught sight of Mandalore's Basilisk come to a halt. Mandalore sat atop, watching him. Revan could almost imagine him smiling beneath his golden helm. Would he come down from his droid to face him? Revan would make sure of it. He decapitated another foe, and raced toward Mandalore.

But Mandalore never came down to fight him. Instead, he raised a vibroblade high above his head, and pointed far past Revan.

Revan stopped in his tracks, and looked behind him toward Mandalore's next target. Realization punched him in his gut as his eyes swept toward the hillside behind him where Bastila hid behind a pile of sandbags. Of course. How could he have been so blind? Mandalore knew he was coming. Somehow, he even knew Revan wasn't Revan. He'd drawn him out of hiding, and had watched to see from where he would come. For Bastila would be there.

He turned his head back toward Mandalore, whose Basilisk droid was now marching toward him.

"Fall back!" he shouted. "Retreat!" He broke into a run, reaching for his commlink, but once again it was too late. Panic washed over him as another missile hit the hillside ahead. A tumble of rocks and ragged trees avalanched toward him, sending Jedi and soldiers running helter-skelter. Revan ducked behind a broken Basilisk droid for shelter from both the blaster fire from behind and the debris of rocks pelting him from above.

He grabbed his commlink. "T3? Do you copy?" But it wasn't the reply, or lack thereof, on the commlink that soothed him. He calmed momentarily, feeling Bastila's soothing touch on his mind. She was still in her Battle Meditation.

"T3!" he shouted again. A series of beeps met his ears, to his relief. Bastila had insisted on moving. She'd felt Mandalore's focus on her. "Hang in there," he said. "I'm coming toward you. I want you to order an evac shuttle. If I don't make it when it lands, take off without me."

The droid beeped his affirmation over the comm. Revan switched channels, and began shouting orders to retreat and lay down cover fire via air strikes. He knew Mandalore would not stop until Bastila was dead. He had to get her out of here. With determination, he gripped his lightsabers, and bolted from the shelter of the droid heap.

Marines were laying down cover fire, the other Jedi falling back as he'd ordered. But he himself made no show of rallying the troops. No, it was too late for that. There was only one priority left, and that was Bastila's safety. He cursed himself as he weaved around the broken boulders up the slope. He should never have left her side. He should never have given into a blind rage. Even as he came to the crest of the hill, he could sense danger. Another rocket whistled through the air. Whether it was aimed at him or generally targeting the troops above, he didn't care. He flung himself behind a boulder, and felt the ground slide beneath his feet as the rocket impacted the hillside. Republic aircraft flew overhead, countering the rocket launchers with their own payloads.

_That should keep them busy_, Revan thought, and rose to his feet. He found Bastila and T3 taking shelter behind the twisted remains of one of their armored vehicles. Her eyes were closed, her mind clearly focused on keeping their retreat ordered. About two hundred meters on the slope ahead, he could see an evac shuttle landing.

"Why are you still here?" he said, gruffly grabbing her by the arm and dragging her to her feet.

"They need my help!" she said, her feet not running as quickly as he wanted.

"No, sweetheart, they need you alive." He pushed her up the next slope to its crest, and then down into the small dip to the clearing where the shuttle was waiting for them. He shoved her through the open door. Behind them, T3 was still scurrying to roll over the rocky slope, and looked about to fall over on its side.

"What about T3?" Bastila asked.

"It's a _droid_!" He swung himself inside to join her, but paused a moment. He itched to rejoin the battle, to make sure they all made it out. No, he made that mistake already. Bastila needed him. He climbed up into the seat next to hers, his decision made.

"Get us out of here," he said to the pilot in the seat ahead. Even as he strapped himself in, he could feel the shuttle shudder as it took off. He slid the door closed as soon as he was bucked in. Finally, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Sir?" the pilot asked. "Your droid ordered a flight plan for base camp. Can you confirm?"

"Affirmative," Revan said. He looked over at Bastila next to him. Her eyes were closed. She had slipped back into her Battle Meditation.

"You can stop now," Revan said.

She ignored him.

Revan shook his head. He felt it was futile at this point, but if she insisted...He turned his eyes to stare out the window. Below, he could make out the tangle of trees covering the foothills that besieged the mountains to the west. A river ran parallel to the mountains, pointing the way back to their encampment. They were flying low to avoid the dog fight behind them—so low he could almost make out the individual leaves and branches.

"We should have stayed," Bastila said at last, her eyes fluttering open, acknowledging her defeat.

"Your safety comes first," Revan replied, still gazing out the window.

"And apparently yours as well."

His head snapped to face her. His tongue was on the verge of forming a scathing retort, but was stopped by a churning in his gut—a warning. He heard the boom of an air turret before the blast ever hit them.

The shuttle shook and rolled. His seat belt cut into his chest with each shudder. His hands gripped the armrests, but it did little to give him a sense of direction. If Bastila was screaming, he couldn't hear it. All sounds—even his own breath—were swallowed in the violent wind that whipped through a gaping maw that was once the shuttle hull. Then they were falling, spinning. The roar of fire matched that of the wind. Revan squeezed his eyes closed. Then blackness took him.

**.:.**

Bastila came to with a thumping head and a wet dripping in her eyes. She sucked in a sharp breath. Smoke filled her lungs, and she coughed violently. She tried to open her eyes, but that wet dripping stung them. With a shaking hand, she wiped her eyes. At last, she opened them, and saw the blood on her hand. She lay her head back.

"Revan!" she called out, her voice hoarse as though she'd been screaming for hours. She broke into another torrent of coughing. Heat singed her lungs. Her eyes scanned through the smokey haze around her. She could make out twisted metal and displaced seat cushions.

Coughing from from beside her met her ears.

Bastila's hands fumbled for the buckle of her safety belt. She stumbled from her seat, her head spinning.

"Revan!" she gasped. His seat had been torn from the flooring, and he now lay on his back, still buckled. But one of his legs was bloodied and torn, a metal rod spearing it into the seat. Bastila crouched beside him.

"Revan?"

His eyes fluttered open. His lungs expanded in a desperate plea for oxygen. He coughed again.

"Can you feel your leg?"

He was still coughing, but he nodded.

Her mind churned. The fire would surely spread to the fuel lines. And then...There was no time to play medic. She had to get him out of here. Steeling herself, she wrapped her bloodied hands around the rod, and pulled. Revan let out a scream that made her blood curdle.

"Leave me!" Revan gasped. "Go!"

She didn't listen. She yanked all the harder, and he muffled his screams through clenched teeth. She was rewarded with the rod slipping out, blood dripping off the metal. A gaping wound on his leg oozed blood like a volcano seeping lava.

_No time, no time_. She wrestled with his seat buckle. It slid free, and she grabbed his arm, lifting him with a strength she didn't know she possessed, her adrenaline taking control. And somehow, through the blur of smoke, she found herself outside, dropping a limping Revan to the ground a good distance away from the wreckage. She ripped her belt from her pants, and hurriedly tied it around his leg. The blood was oozing steadily, but was slowed. The rod hadn't severed an artery.

Bastila glanced back at the shuttle that sat mangled around the broken trees. _The pilot!_ She began to stumble toward the flaming wreckage, and vaguely heard Revan warning her to stay away from it.

An explosion ripped through the air, sending her to her knees, torched debris raining around her. If their pilot had been alive, he was dead now.

She staggered to her feet and turned back to a grimacing Revan.

"We need to get out of here," Revan said through clinched teeth.

"I-I've got kolto," Bastila said, and began fumbling through her many pockets.

"I'm not walking out of here," he said.

Ignoring him, she found her quarry, and was about to tear open the kolto pack when she heard over the crackling flames the sound of a blaring horn in the distance.

The unearthly howl that followed reminded her of hunting hounds closing in on a scent.

Both Jedi froze, listening. More howls followed, and another horn from another direction joined the first horn. They would not be alone for long.

"Go," Revan said, gripping Bastila's arm.

"I'm not-"

"Do as I order, Commander!"

"But-"

"Listen to me, you stubborn fool. I can't walk. You need to run before they close in. Find the river. Don't go into the foothills. Keep to the trees. You can follow the river north to base camp."

"Revan-"

"You're too valuable to lose," he said, his eyes hardened with determination.

"So are you," she said.

"There's no use in both of us being captured. I can buy you time."

A horn blared again, this time closer. Bastila could hear shouts.

Revan flung her wrist from him. "Run!"

Cold reason got through to her at last. She ran.

**.:.**

Revan dragged himself to the nearest tree, and leaned against its rough bark, his breathing heavy.

_Must stand up_.

By sheer force of will, he lifted himself on one leg, using the tree for balance. He still leaned against it for support as he drew a lightsaber. Even as it ignited, he heard the stomp of feet crunching twigs and leaves. Kath hounds rambled from between the jungle trees, howling at him, circling him, snapping at him threateningly. With a flick of his free wrist, he sent a wave of energy through the air, flinging the hounds through the air like rag dolls. They fled from him yelping, seeking shelter with their masters, who now emerged from the jungle trees.

The Mandalorians marched toward him casually, clearly assessing that he wasn't running anywhere with his bloodied leg. One shouted commands at the hounds, and they reluctantly fell behind their masters, tails between their legs.

"Well, well," one said. "Looks like we've got ourselves a Jedi."

Another trailed from behind him. "Our only concern is the girl."

"Dead in the wreckage?"

"No, there's tracks going west. Set the dogs on her and follow them."

Two Mandalorians broke away, grabbing the hounds by their chained collars. Revan clenched his free hand in a fist. They weren't hunting her without a word from him first. The brutes reeled, their hands groping their necks before they were flung to the ground by an invisible force.

"Ho, ho! He's a live one, boys!"

The one who had barked orders previously now stepped toward Revan. "He won't be for much longer." His voice was so familiar, though Revan couldn't tell for sure with the helmet obscuring his features.

Another Mandalorian grabbed the leader by the shoulder. "Mandalore wants all survivors alive."

"Tsk, tsk, Ordo. Doesn't mean we can't have a bit of fun. Isn't that right, boys?"

The others howled with laughter. Revan's two victims had already risen to their feet, their blasters aimed at him, the hounds growling. All at once, the Mandalorians opened fire.

What followed was a blur of instinct as he blocked their shots with his lightsaber. Another wave of energy flowed from his fingertips, but they were ready for his antics now. A harpoon tore through his already bleeding leg, pinning him to the tree against which he was leaning. The laughter that followed his anguished howl rang in his ears. Before he could regather himself, his vision exploded in white—a flash grenade. The butt of a rifle cracked against his skull, and the white faded to black.

**.:.**

Bastila skipped over stones, crunched leaves beneath her boots, and swiped branches out of her way as she fled. It wasn't long before she heard more howling behind her. Even as she heard the bubbling of a nearby stream, she knew there was only one way to lose them—water. She veered further into the trees, and stumbled into the brook, water splashing her pants.

_Run up the other side, double back. _She made a point of stomping into the muddy bank for effect, and even unwrapped and threw one of her food bars into the bushes ahead—and tied an explosive pack to it. "Bad for digestion," she muttered, and ran back into the stream, running hard through the swirling water north-east.

It was mere minutes before she heard the explosion behind her. She might have smirked if she weren't panting for breath. She couldn't keep up this pace much longer, and it wouldn't take long for her pursuers to realize she had followed the stream. The thought that she could set up an ambush flitted through her mind, but she quickly brushed it aside. She was no match for a pack of kath hounds and who knew how many Mandalorians. No, there was only one option.

She double-backed again, creating more false trails, throwing various items from her pockets, anything that had her scent, to confuse the hounds. Then she bolted through the jungle trees. They would expect her to go west toward the main river, or northwest (and ultimately north) toward the Republic base camp. She veered south east.

They'd never expect her to go back for Revan.


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: Hey everyone! I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Do give me feedback.

By the way, THE-WRITING-GEEK has been authoring a walk-through of KOTOR 1 that you might find a good read. I've started following it myself. I don't often blatantly advertise for other authors, but I felt this ought to be an exception because (a) the author actually made it past Taris, (b) the author's writing is very good, and (c) the author isn't getting nearly as many reviews as the story deserves. So if you'd like to read a good walk-through of KOTOR 1, give this story a try! I don't think you'll be disappointed. And don't forget to give it a well-deserved review!

**CHAPTER 18**

_Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit._

Revan had the faint sensation of swinging, with his hands the fulcrum point, and his feet dangling. A hot jungle rain poured down his eyelids, his neck, his naked chest. Despite the humid heat, his bare feet felt like blocks of ice. His hands and arms were numb, as though they had turned to clumps of metal. He shifted, pulling himself up by the arms and stomach to work blood flow back into his hands. His head ached with the movement, and his hands and arms erupted in fire, as though a thousand mosquitoes were were stabbing through his skin, searching for blood. His biceps and abdomen buckled, and released, leaving him to dangle from the tree branch once more.

How many times had they beaten him unconscious? All he knew was that there was little daylight left, as the clouds above the tangle of tree limbs were growing darker. He peered down, his eyes sweeping over his naked chest and bloodied pants. Despite the rain washing the mud and blood from his chest, the familiar, salty-sweet scent of kolto mixed with blood wafted from his bandages to his nostrils. His "hosts" had tended his wounds, but it wasn't out of pity. No, they wanted him to relive the same horror every time he came to. They hadn't even asked him any questions. He was just sport to them. His dog tag was inscribed with an unmemorable name—his true name. His mask was no more, though he didn't remember when he'd lost it in the chaos. It was likely left behind in the burning wreckage, or perhaps in their shuttle's descent it had been sucked out the mouth blasted into the hull. To them, he was yet another Jedi General, and one of no notoriety or import. They wouldn't even bother to trade him with the Republic. He let out a pained snicker at the irony. If they only knew who it was they had captured...

He shifted his eyes, squinting as he peered around him. They would return soon. They always had. It'd been this way for hours—or was it days? _No, no, the sun is only now setting. Keep your wits!_

He closed his eyes, focusing on the cold metal that clung so tightly to his throat. He had to get the neural collar off. No one was coming. He had to save himself before they grew tired of their sport.

The Force felt so far from him now. Like a drowning man clawing at the surface of the sea, he reached for it, begged for it to save him. His efforts were met with a shock of electricity. When his body finally stopped convulsing, he tried again, letting out an angered growl through clenched teeth, his nerves set on fire. His tightened muscles at last slackened, and he dangled once more like a flag in a gentle breeze—a white flag that had surrendered for the time being.

Recriminations took aim at his limp form. Here he was, the great Revanchist—the youngest Jedi to ever take his trials at the age of twenty; the warrior who led a mere ten Jedi against a horde of hundreds of Mandalorians in that death trap of a mining facility on Bespin, and left none alive; the feared specter of the battlefield whose confirmed kill count tallied at over two hundred eighty Mandalorian warriors; the mystical Jedi so in tune with the Force that he could foresee the plans of his enemies; the venerated general who brought back the Republic from the brink of utter defeat; the legend even among his own kind that was rumored to be able to call down lightning upon an entire army.

Revan—the pitiful man now dangling from a tree, so easily defeated. Outmaneuvered. He should have seen this coming. Overpowered. How many times had his old masters had told him to rise above pain? Soft. His year behind a desk had destroyed him, had stolen his purpose as a Jedi, the defender of the weak. Ignorant. He'd shunned the orthodox, practical masters for one who enamored him with enigmas and philosophy.

He was everything his orthodox masters had said he was—an arrogant fool. He was a mere man, nothing more. He wasn't invincible, though he'd let the media and men beneath him extol him as such. And, so much like his own Padawan, he was angry. He'd always been angry as a young man. How many times had his masters warned him to forgive? How many times had he shoved the rage down, pretending it wasn't there? In his arrogance, he'd thought he was above giving into it, of giving into resentment. But he wouldn't be here at all if that were the case. So many times his inner quest for vengeance turned him to tunnel vision against his foes, only to have Admirals and Generals alike have to shake him back to reality. How arrogant had he been to lecture his Padawan! He was no better than she, and at least she had the humility, when confronted, to admit her flaws. When had he ever relented when confronted?

Now he would pay dearly for his arrogance. His only comfort—no, his only hope—was that Bastila was now far from here.

Footsteps in the mud. The familiar guffawing of malevolent men keen on cruelty. Revan stiffened, and closed his eyes, hanging still like a dead deer about to be skinned. Which probably wasn't far from the truth, he thought morbidly.

A familiar voice met his ears, though he hadn't heard it in hours. He knew it was the leader, now ready to play with him personally. His mind worked feverishly to place the voice as it grated against his ears.

"Hail, Jedi," the Mandalorian said. "I see you have been enjoying our hospitality." Revan could hear him pause, clearly taking him in.

Then he felt the sharp slap of wood against his bare stomach, the splinters catching in his skin. He sucked in a sharp breath, opening his eyes.

"There," his captor said. "Now we can speak, warrior to warrior."

Revan squinted at the man he saw. This Mandalorian had removed his helm, and was peering at him with the sharp eyes of a predator. Revan's mind, so clouded by the neural collar and prior blood loss, finally focused enough to place the voice, even though he'd never seen the face.

Cassus Fett.

His blood heated as that name prowled through his thoughts. And it filled him with dread as well, for if he recognized Cassus Fett's voice, surely Cassus would recognize his as well. If Cassus discovered his identity, his suffering to come would eclipse everything he'd experienced thus far.

His nemesis snatched the dog tag hanging from his neck. "I've never heard of your name." He dropped the tag nonchalantly. "But you must be a good warrior, nonetheless, or else you would not have been assigned to protect _her_."

Revan bristled at the mention of Bastila, a deep scowl chiseled on his face.

"Never fret. She will join you soon enough."

Revan's gut churned. Had they caught her? No, he must not think that. Surely she would be here by now if they had. Wherever here was.

"While we wait," Cassus continued, beginning to pace, circling him, "I thought we'd get to know each other. You see, I am very curious about your religion. On the one hand, it makes you powerful. On the other hand, it makes you weak. Isn't that a conundrum?" He shook his head. "No, no, that's not the word I'm looking for. _Hypocrisy_. Yes, that is the word!"

Revan wasn't sure what was worse—the beatings or having to listen to Cassus Fett ramble on about nothing.

"As you can see, you Jedi are all weak. We do not fear your mystical Force anymore than we'd fear a mighty beast of the jungle. Even the mightiest of beasts can be killed by a blaster shot, and so it is with the Jedi. You are mere men. You use your magic as a tool. We use technology and science. So, you see, in the end we're both the same. Mere men, with powerful tools.

"Of course, you underestimated us, didn't you? You and your Republic. You thought we were barbarians with clubs. You still do, otherwise your hero would not be dead."

Revan's brow scrunched in confusion.

Cassus smiled sadistically as he circled back into view. "Oh, yes, Jedi! The great Revanchist has fallen in battle. His forces are scattering even now, desperate to regroup. You are utterly defeated."

Revan doubted they were "scattering." Surik and the army generals were too competent not to pull off a counter offense and hold their ground. Still, it was no surprise that the Mandalorians assumed he was dead.

"But I digress," Cassus said, circling again. "We were discussing your hypocrisy. We both use tools, but you won't use yours to the fullest, because you think you are better than we are. You think we are savages. I admit you are right. No, we are not backward barbarians, but we use unpleasant tools in our tool kits, don't we? The difference between you and I, Jedi, is that you think you are not capable of our savagery—that you are more sophisticated, merciful, and good."

Cassus stopped before him, facing him, and pulled out a knife from his belt. It's cold metal glinted in the waning sunlight.

"You think you are above feeling fear, and anger." He paused, a feral glint lighting his eyes. "And hate..."

_No. No, no, no._

"What? Have you nothing to say? Don't worry, Jedi. I don't care to make you talk. But talk you will, when you cry out for mercy, and find none. Only when you finally fall from your hypocrisy, will I let you die."

The knife plunged into his gut, and twisted. An anguished scream echoed among the trees.

**.:.**

Bastila picked her way among the tangled roots and draping vines, keeping the mud road far to her left, but ever following it in her own meandering way. They had passed this way, making no efforts to hide their trail or be discrete. In fact, every Mandalorian seemed to pass this way. It was clearly a supply line, which meant it led somewhere important, which in turn meant she needed to stay out of sight. Hours had already passed as she pressed on. A steady torrent of rain began to erupt not long into her journey. It was both a blessing and cursing—a blessing in that her scent would be washed away where no hound could follow, and a cursing in that it slowed her progress painfully. She was wet and miserable, though at least she wasn't cold. No, it was like bathing in a steamy shower with her clothes on, and she could not tell the difference between her own sweat and the rain. Nightfall had come at last, decreasing what little visibility she had enjoyed. In the dark and rain, she stumbled and groped in the muddy ground, but she dared not risk any light.

A shape shifted amid the trees and pelting rain drops. She froze, peering into the darkness ahead of her. Barely, she could make out a man, as still as the tree trunks around them, melted into the shadows—a sentry.

She sank down slowly, melting into the shadows as well, biding her time. If there was a sentry here, then there was likely some sort of encampment or outpost ahead. If so, then that was where Revan had been taken. She needed a way in, and it was doubtful she simply could walk through the front door. But if she could dispatch this sentry, and take his armor...

Doubt flooded her mind. Could she really sneak up to him, undetected? If he so much as screamed, others might hear.

She stayed down, her blood thumping loudly in her ears, her chest tight, her lungs burning for a breath she feared to take.

_Move!_ her mind screamed, but her body wouldn't obey. Master Sunrider's wise words came back to her. _Better that courage be the thing that leads you to failure, than fear._

She took a slow—terribly slow—breath, and shifted her weight ever so slightly to her right. She had no idea that mud could be so loud under her boots, but it was, and she froze once more. The sentry remained unmoving, oblivious. She lifted a foot, and took a step, edging further to the right. Still he didn't move, even though wet leaves rustled beneath her. Her courage mounted, and she continued to edge to her right. Minutes passed as she moved in this fashion, gradually circling behind him. Every second felt like a minute, and every minute an hour, her adrenaline and pounding heart begging her to move faster. But she slowed her movement all the more. Patience would determine victory here.

She was almost behind him now, having given him a wide berth. It was time to move in toward him. Inch by inch, she shuffled closer, more anguished minutes passing. She heard him cough as she drew near, followed by the sound of liquid swishing against glass. A shadow in the clouded moonlight—no _Onderon's_ light, for Dxun was the moon—cast itself against a gnarled tree trunk, revealing the man's form. She held her breath, inching closer, and finally saw the man's outline. She heard the swishing liquid sound again, and saw that he was pressing a bottle to his lips.

No, it couldn't be.

_Swish_.

Yes, he really was. She felt a bit of disgust well up in her. How in Hoth's frozen tundra did these drunkards ever manage to crawl away from the bottle long enough to conquer a world? At the same time, she couldn't help but smirk. It was almost too good to be true. She just might be able to pull off her desperate rescue.

A twig snapped under her boot, and loudly. The sentry shot to his feet and spun around, his eyes peering right toward her. Terror sent ice through her veins, nailing her to the spot. But somehow, as the eyes scanned the trees, he didn't see her. As her heart slowed, her senses returned. He was still peering into the trees in her general direction, her only saving grace the deep shadows cast by the trees and the vines draped between them. Still, she dared not so much as flinch. Her lungs were already burning from holding her breath. She did the only thing she could think of. Concentrating, she fabricated in his mind the sound of a twig snapping in another direction. His head instantly snapped away.

"Stupid animals!" he huffed, and threw his bottle into the trees, the sound of shattering glass giving Bastila her only chance.

But her legs wouldn't move. She couldn't do it. She couldn't just...just _kill_ a man in cold blood, could she? Silently, a lightsaber in his back. Like a coward, in the dark and without mercy.

_But Revan needs you_.

Deep down, she knew she lacked the backbone of so many Jedi who would do what needed to be done without hesitation. Something innocent inside her begged for its life. _Don't kill what's left of me_, it said. The face of a young Mandalorian boy she'd killed in self defense on Kashyyyk flooded her memory.

No other Jedi would blame her for doing what was necessary to save a comrade's life. Even as she finally found the resolve to step forward, she found herself wishing there was another way.

The Mandalorian picked up another bottle, and took another swig.

Then as if in answer to her silent prayer, he sat against a tree, draping his arm over his eyes.

_Undisciplined brutes_, Bastila thought. With a smirk, she gripped the hilt of her saber, and crept forward.

He was going to wake up with quite the headache.

**.:.**

Bastila picked her way to the trail, still keeping off of it, but following it steadily toward the encampment. The trees were growing thinner, and she could hear the roar of water. Over the water she could hear the distant noise of raucous laughter.

Then there was the distant scream that curdled her blood.

She knew instinctively it was Revan, and she forced herself to move faster in her clunky armor. Her helm blocked her peripheral vision, and she had great difficulty avoiding tripping on roots as it was. The drunken Mandalorian's armor was much too big for her, and her wet Jedi robes sloshed uncomfortably beneath. She only prayed no one would notice as she sneaked into the encampment. Her only mercy was that it was dark and dreary.

She took another hurried step, and found only empty air. Narrowly, she kept herself from falling off the cliff, grasping a nearby vine for dear life. She cautiously pulled her foot back, and peered down the narrow ravine before her. At last she knew the source of the roaring water—a river that violently wound its way far down below, the rain feeding its voracious appetite steadily. Raising her helmeted head, she gazed at the other side of the ravine. Amid the tangle of trees overhanging the cliff, she could make out long wooden logs, their ends sharpened like spears, forming a primitive wall. She guessed it was another small outpost like many the Republic had found thus far—a clearing fortified by wooden beams, and only tents and the most basic defense turrets. It was just enough to keep the jungle beasts out, but did little to repel a Republic force that could easily burn down their defense. It was only an encampment, meant as a lair for launching raids. Such outposts littered the jungle, and were easily abandoned if the Republic drew too near. The greatest danger for the Republic in stumbling across them was the booby traps and minefields.

Bastila took a deep breath. She would have to step very carefully from here on. Backing away from the ravine, she crept through the trees, making her way toward the trail. She knelt into a crouch when the trail came into view, peering into the dark rain for any sign of movement. Slowly, she crept forward, leaning behind a tree for cover. From here she could see the trail did indeed lead to the ravine, and to a wooden bridge that spanned the gap to the encampment. It was the sentries at the bridge that gave her pause. Surely they would question why a Mandalorian in ill-fitting armor was wandering the jungle alone in the rain. A Jedi mind trick was too risky. If they were of any intelligence at all...

Shouts and the march of muddy boots met her ears. Her head snapped around, and saw a group of Mandalorians coming down the trail toward the bridge. Hounds tugged at their masters' leashes, eager to get out of the rain. It was the very hunting party that had doggedly pursued her. It had to be. Her mind debated whether to crawl further into the trees or remain frozen in place, but there was little time to get away. She chose the latter, gripping her new Mandalorian blaster rifle. One hound seemed to peer right at her as it passed by.

She stiffened, staring back into those yellow eyes. Then the hound's body shook, water flying off its matted fur, and passed her by. The Mandalorians paid her no heed, and at last marched further down the trail, their backs turned toward her.

Bastila inhaled sharply, and made her decision. She sprang to her feet, and ran to the trail, bounding up behind the entourage, falling in line behind them. One Mandalorian ahead glanced back at her, but she kept marching, hoping against hope they thought she was one of them.

Then one of the hounds lapsed behind its handler, and whipped around, barking furiously at her, foam flying from its frothy jaws.

She froze, knowing it must have recognized her scent. The beast tugged on its leash as it lunged toward her, its handler yelling commands at it. Nervously, she called upon the Force, sending a soothing calm into the beast, all the while motioning with her hand for it to sit. With a whine, it obeyed, its rump settling into the muddy ground. Bastila let out a breath.

One of the Mandalorians fell in beside her, slinging an arm around her with a rumbling laugh beneath his helm.

"Don't be scared, lad! Just hit 'em in the jaw when they get like that." He thrust a canteen into her free hand. "This'll calm your nerves, eh?"

Briskly, she nodded as he slapped her back, and rather roughly. He at last unslung his arm and fell into step with the others, who had now resumed their march. She likewise willed her legs to march forward, not wanting to draw any further attention to herself by falling behind. Dubiously, she unscrewed the lid of the canteen, and raised it to her helm, sniffing. Even with her helmet on, the smell nearly made her double over. It smelled of engine cleanser. She rolled her eyes. These people were such alcoholics.

As they approached the bridge, the sentries parted, and the party crossed the ravine, the wooden planks beneath their boots creaking in complaint. Bastila steeled herself, her mind calculating her next few moves.

Locate Revan, make a distraction, and get out. Getting out, she knew, would be the easy part. Getting away would be another matter entirely.

**.:.**

Well before he saw the victim, Canderous Order heard the screams, and knew they were due to Cassus Fett. He and his men were tired, filthy, and wet. One of his men was dead from a detonator thanks to that Jedi schutta, and another wounded from the same. He just wanted to crawl out of the rain into a pup tent with a warm ale and pass out. But that wasn't possible anymore, thanks to Cassus Fett.

With a growl, he ripped his helmet from his head, tucking it neatly under his arm. He motioned for his men, who had likewise paused at the gate at the eerie screams. They wordlessly followed, except for the kath hound handlers, who promptly went about putting them down for the night. He would need a show of force for this.

He stalked to the other side of the camp, sloshing through the mud between the array of tents. Then he saw him—or, rather, _it_. One couldn't rightly call it a man anymore. The Jedi's body hung suspended from a low-hanging tree branch that dangled over the wall. His bare chest was bruised, the rain streaking his blood across his body, his ribs likely cracked. His skin was a patchwork of stitches and bandages. Canderous halted, watching as Cassus Fett twisted a knife between the Jedi's ribs, two of his cohorts holding the body still to keep it from thrashing too much as the victim screamed once more. Even the most battle-hardened Mandalorian had his limits, and Cassus had long ago crossed Canderous'. Glancing to his side, Canderous noted he wasn't the only one whose body visibly recoiled at the brutality.

"What in Mandalore's name are you doing?" Canderous barked.

Nonchalantly, Cassus withdrew the blade, making it a point to go very slowly just for Canderous. "Only entertaining our guest, Ordo," Cassus said, wiping the blade with a cloth.

"Mandalore's orders were to keep all prisoners _alive_."

Cassus turned to him, finally just as annoyed as he was. "He is quite alive. And I'm sure you know that Mandalore's orders were also for you to capture the girl. I assume you brought her with you?"

The older man's eyes narrowed, a scowl chiseled into his weathered face. "The rain washed out her trail. The hounds need rest. We will resume the hunt as soon as the rain subsides."

Cassus smiled smugly. "Then it is a good thing I am interrogating the prisoner."

"Have you even asked him any questions?"

"Bite your tongue, Ordo!"

Canderous' scowl deepened. "You're not a field marshal anymore, Fett. I take my orders directly from Mandalore, as do you. Your prisoner looks like a dead fish. I don't think Mandalore would be pleased if he died under your hospitality."

"And I don't think he'll be pleased if you let his prize get away."

"Then I'll be sure to let him know how helpful you were in staying behind to command this outpost while the rest of us searched in the mud for the girl."

Cassus threw his knife into the mud at Canderous' feet, causing the older man's muscles to coil, ready to attack.

"Have it your way," Cassus said, his arms spread out. "Ask the prisoner whatever you want. Kill him, nurse him back to health, I don't care. But we will both resume the hunt as soon as the hounds are rested. She couldn't have gone far."

Cassus stalked away, but not without one last glare in Canderous' direction. His two cronies followed after their master like lost kath hounds. The older man shook his head. If the brat wasn't Mandalore's own son...

He stepped toward the prisoner, taking him in. The eyes fluttered open, surprisingly sharp and aware, despite his obvious pain. In them was a look he'd seen many times since he and Cassus had begun working together. The eyes were feral and murderous. However, he discerned a sliver of control remained, as though a thin wall kept the rage from escaping those eyes. He was probably resisting now just to spite Cassus, which only made the grizzled warrior like him. Yes, there was surprising strength in this Jedi, considering how many hours Cassus had likely had his way with him.

"Cut him down," Canderous ordered. "And bring him to the medical tent. He belongs to Mandalore. Treat him as such."

Two of his men rushed to cut the rope that strung the Jedi to the branch, and carefully hoisted his limp form between their shoulders, dragging him through the mud. Canderous followed behind them, and helped them lay him down in the medical tent. The on-site medic—if you could call a man packing so many thermal detonators around his belt a medic—took over, though Canderous stayed to assist, despite the other man's grumbling that he was in the way. No, he would watch his charge. He couldn't afford for this prisoner to die in the night. Like a bird of prey eying a mouse crawling along the ground, Canderous watched the medic pull an IV bag from a storage container and start the Jedi on a steady drip of kolto. The medic then flicked on the medical scanner, assessing the damage with the sweep of a wand.

While Canderous' medical training was limited, even he could tell from the blurry image displayed on the monitor that Cassus had been inhumanly precise. Only droids were that perfect with a sharp object, and that during surgery. Droids, and professional torturers. Yes, Cassus had had years of practice at keeping his prisoners both alive and in pain. At least the Jedi's ribs were only bruised, not broken.

As Canderous helped the medic stitch the open wounds and apply kolto, the Jedi's eyes flickered open. They were tired now, the feral rage having evaporated. But they seemed to ask a question.

"Not all of us are like him, Jedi," Canderous said in answer to the silent question, pressing gauze to the bruised flesh. "Some of us still believe in honor."

He wasn't sure if the Jedi believed him. Frankly, he wouldn't believe him either after having been Cassus' guest. But it seemed enough of an answer, for the Jedi closed his eyes, unconsciousness and sedatives claiming him.

"Just some of us," Canderous muttered. "Just some of us."

**.:.**

Even in his sleep, Revan could hear the rain pelt the tent canvas. Blearily, his eyelids slid open, giving him a view of spattered water indenting the cloth ceiling above him, before they slid shut once more. His stomach felt like some alien creature was chewing its way out. Everything ached, but what felt even more real than the physical pain was the gnawing in his heart—a deep-seated bitterness that awoke an old rage from its long slumber. No, that wasn't entirely true. It had awoken before, in the heat of battle, or even on the day he'd stormed out of the Jedi Temple, his name and position stripped from him. He'd always managed to send it back to sleep, and to take his mind off the festering bitterness. This time, however, he had a feeling the rage would remain awake. Or had it always been awake? Had he simply been burying it all along and refusing to acknowledge its existence? He was beyond caring, except for one thing. Bastila was safe; they hadn't found her. That hope was the only thing that made him hold on, that kept him from giving his most hated enemy what he wanted.

These thoughts spun through his mind as he drifted in and out of an uneasy slumber, never knowing if he was about to awaken again to another nightmare. Yet even in his sleep he didn't escape having nightmares, for he dreamed of rain and the aliens gnawing on his intestines.

Then everything erupted into a series of deafening booms, followed by panicked shouts. Awareness of reality shot through his spine, his eyelids jolting open. A few moments passed, and more shouts now mixed with a crackling roar. Fiery light danced across the tent ceiling. With willful disinterest, Revan squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't care anymore. Just escape, if only for a while. Escape to the gnawing aliens.

Someone was standing over him now, touching his bare skin, his throat. He risked a glimpse, saw a helmed Mandalorian—not the medic. He felt the metal collar release its grip on his neck. All at once, the Force rushed into his body, as though he had been holding his breath all this time and had just now found air. Confusion flooded his mind, before battle-hardened instinct asserted control. A restraint on his arm slid loose. With a growl, he snatched his would-be torturer's neck with his now free hand, and squeezed.

Or so he thought. No, the armor was in the way. _Hit him!_

"It's _me_, you idiot!" a woman's voice hissed. The intruder swatted his arm down.

_No, it can't be_. He knew that voice, that accent. But she was far from here. She was free. It was the sedatives, or some sort of interrogation.

The armored figure removed his helmet—no, _her_ helmet—locks of brown hair falling down a familiar face.

"I'm getting you out of here," she said.

He felt the restraint on his other arm loosen, saw her rip out the IV, though he didn't feel it.

"No," he rasped.

"Come on, we have to hurry."

He felt her begin to lift him up from his shoulder. "No!" he growled, and shoved her away.

"Stop fighting me!" she hissed.

"I gave you an order!"

"We need to move _now_!"

He felt her drag him again, and he limply pushed her away, feeling his head hit his cot mattress. She stopped pulling on him. Good. _Just run_, he thought. Or did he say that aloud?

His eyelids drooped shut, sedatives overpowering his momentary rush of adrenaline.

A whisper interrupted his reemerging dream of aliens chewing, chewing chewing. "I hope this doesn't kill you," he heard her say. Why would the chewing aliens want to keep him alive? Just eat him and be done already!

A searing pain knifed through his heart. His eyes shot open, and he let out an agonized howl that was muffled by a hand pressed to his mouth. Even before Bastila removed the syringe from his chest, he could feel his heart beat faster, like a frightened hare fleeing a predator. All of his aches drained from him, replaced with an alertness rivaled only by gallons of caffa—an adrenal stim.

"Get up!" Bastila said, tugging his arm.

He jumped to his feet, shoving her away. "I told you to run!" he growled, staggering on his injured leg, which wouldn't obey his mind nor his thumping heart.

"We either run together or stay together," Bastila said, sliding under his arm to support his weight. "Now _move_!"

She began half walking, half dragging him out of the tent. Revan saw the futility of arguing with her, and he was certain he couldn't hold still if he wanted to with his heart screaming at him to run. "You'd better hope we don't live through this," he said, nearly hopping on one leg to keep up with Bastila's brisk pace. "Because when we get back..."

"Yes, yes, you can murder me later."

The rain was still sizzling in the hot jungle air, now made hotter from the glowing flames at the other side of the camp. Soldiers were running helter-skelter to put out the flames and arm themselves. "The Republic is here!" some shouted, as their commanding officers in turn barked orders.

By some miracle, they hobbled unnoticed to the gap in the wall that served as the encampment's entrance, looking like two contestants in a three-legged race. Beyond was a wooden bridge spanning what looked to Revan to be a chasm. Another roar met his ears, not one of fire but of water.

"The prisoner! The prisoner is escaping!"

"Oh Force!" Bastila muttered.

"What else did you expect?" Revan said, rolling his eyes.

"Cooperation?" She drew out a cylindrical object—her lightsaber. It ignited with a hiss.

They stepped onto the first wooden plank. It creaked in protest. They took more hurried steps, which sent the bridge into a slight swing. Revan grabbed the supporting rope with his free hand. Blaster shots sizzled over their heads. Bastila spun around, deflecting them back into the soldiers, who ducked for cover behind the outpost wall. Revan reached out with a hand, tendrils of the Force snatching a few rifles away from their owners and sending a few soldiers flying backward.

"Cease fire!" a commanding voice ordered. "Fools! Mandalore wants them alive! Set to stun!"

The Jedi both froze as the soldiers grudgingly switched modes on their rifles. Bastila stood at the ready for the next burst of fire, but none came.

The commander let out a laugh. "How far do you think you can make it with him?" his baritone voice asked. Revan turned to look at him, leaning on the bridge rope. He recognized his gruff face—Canderous, of clan Ordo.

The older man nodded approvingly. "You've got guts, girl. I would never have guessed that you would have followed us home. But this doomed rescue was foolish." He spread his arms magnanimously. "Surrender. You will be shown mercy. Mandalore may even trade you with the Republic."

Without a word, yet in full agreement, both Jedi backed away a step, their feet blindly searching for the next plank of wood.

"I have no doubt we'll be alive," Revan said. "But I doubt you'll make us comfortable."

"I am a man of my honor."

"But is Mandalore?" Revan said.

Canderous' eyes narrowed into murderous slits. _That hit a sore spot._

Another step backward, and then they froze as a voice joined the conversation from behind.

"But Mandalore isn't here, is he?"

Revan turned to meet this new foe. Cassus Fett was standing on the opposite side of the bridge, along with a company of other men.

"Such an obvious distraction. I thought someone might come through the front door. But why would such an important asset actually try to rescue a no-name Jedi?"

Bastila had shifted to have her left blade pointing to Canderous and her right blade pointing to Cassus.

Cassus unsheathed a vibroblade, his men following suit, one hoisting a harpoon and a net for good measure. Several others gripped flash grenades in their free hands. "I suppose we'll have to find out what is so special about your boyfriend, won't we?" Cassus said.

"Keep them _alive_!" Canderous barked.

Cassus only smiled. "Mandalore didn't say their limbs had to be intact."

The soldiers stepped onto the bridge, causing it to swing. Revan and Bastila inched toward Canderous, who nodded encouragingly.

"Surrender," the old man said. But Canderous' own soldiers had warmed to Cassus' idea, and unsheathed their own vibroblades and unclipped their own flash grenades. The grizzled warrior had completely lost control of the situation.

Bastila's head whipped between the two sides, nervously watching as their foes closed in. Revan felt his heart rate slowing. His body began to ache in protest of the abuse. But he would go out fighting. He didn't need a lightsaber. Just a wave of the Force would send many flying from this bridge before they overwhelmed them. He would make them pay dearly for Bastila's capture.

Then his body slumped into the rope support, clearly in disagreement with his mind. His lungs convulsed, sending him into a violent coughing fit. He tasted blood.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Bastila said.

Revan looked down past his feet, past the wooden planks swinging dangerously, and into the dark, roaring chasm below. In the dim light, he could make out the violent rush of water, and what were likely sharp, jagged rocks.

He gripped the wet rope all the more tightly, stiff splinters cutting into his hands. "If I order you not to send us falling to our deaths, will you actually obey?"

"Glad we're on the same page. Did you have a better long-term solution?"

"You were planning to do this all along, weren't you?"

"Well, how else was I going to spirit you away?"

With a grin, Bastila tangled one arm in the rope on Revan's side and swiped her saber through the other. All at once, the bridge snapped apart and swung wildly. Several soldiers slid off and ended up precariously dangling above the ravine. The rest had managed to grip the support of the other side. Revan's ribcage and arms complained sharply as he strained to hold onto the rope.

"Don't!" Canderous shouted.

But Cassus already saw the dangerous smirk on Bastila's face. "Back away!" he ordered, placatingly raising a free hand, almost pleading with the Jedi. "You won't survive such a fall," Cassus said.

"You forget," Bastila said. "I'm not a girl. I'm a Jedi."

"You're never taking your trials," Revan muttered as he wrapped one arm around Bastila's waist, and prepared to let go of the rope with the other.

"But I _am_ taking my trials," she said with a wink, and swung her blade one last time.

Wind ripped through their clothes as they fell. The roar of water became deafening almost instantaneously. Revan could feel his stomach crawl out of his throat with the pull of gravity. Both Jedi let out a wave of energy to counter the impending impact. Then Revan's body slapped the water, and a suffocating blackness swept over him.


	19. Chapter 19

**CHAPTER 19**

_Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit._

Malak's fist slammed it into the wood table with a crack, his pacing in his flagship's conference room halted.

"A ceasefire?" he growled, incredulous.

The Supreme Chancellor's holoprojection remained unmoving, as though it was a mere still-shot. General Surik's, however, cringed just a bit.

"It's time to face reality," the Chancellor said coolly. "Revan and his secret weapon are likely dead."

Malak's eyes darkened. "Our 'secret weapon' has a name. It's _Bastila._"

The Chancellor raised a velvet-gloved hand. "Yes, yes, of course she does. Please don't think I don't realize Commander Shan's sacrifice. But what are we gaining by continuing this pointless fight? Are we anywhere near even considering storming Mandalore's fortress? My generals in the field tell me our losses are mounting just holding our ground."

Surik interjected with a frown. "It's not as bad as you say. We've managed to regroup with General Solo, and we're now steadily pushing the front lines back north-east." A faint whir followed by a boom crackled over her comm connection.

"I take it that delightful sound came from the north-east?" the Chancellor quipped.

"With all due respect, _sir_," Surik said through visibly clenched teeth, "you are pulling me away from one of the most critical battles fought in this entire war with every minute we spend debating this."

"Yes, I understand. But you are making my point for me, Master Jedi. We're at the most critical point in this entire war. General Revan is missing, and we have no Commander Shan to repair the morale from such a loss."

"He isn't dead," Malak said, his jaw set firmly.

"Then where is he?"

"We think he was on the same shuttle as Commander Shan," Surik said, her comm crackling with static as another bombshell dropped in the background. "All we know is that the shuttle crashed a few miles east of the Demon River."

The Chancellor raised a hairy, white eyebrow. "The Demon River?"

"That's what we've dubbed it, sir. It flows out from near our north-west base camp, follows the mountains south, and feeds into the pass-"

"Yes, yes, spare me the details, General. The point is, they are both likely dead."

"You don't know that," Malak growled.

"Then where is the offer of a prisoner exchange? Surely Mandalore would have used them as a bargaining chip by now."

Malak's broad shoulders slumped. He couldn't conjure an answer to that.

"I rest my case. They either died in the shuttle crash, or at the hands of the Mandalorians. Even if they live, you are in no position to mount a rescue."

"Chancellor Antilles," Surik said, "Kae and Yusanis are on their way from the north to reinforce us. We have a chance to surround the enemy."

"And they are days away, and harried by clan Jendri's forces. How many more losses will we suffer while you wait for your _own_ rescue?"

"But we can bring the front lines closer to the shuttle crash. If Revan and Bastila are out there still, we can find them."

"Or they can find us," Malak added.

The Chancellor's holoprojection shook his blue head. "I'm sorry, both of you. We are fighting a losing battle. And for what? To drive the Mandalorians off of a jungle rock back into their own space? They are contained. A ceasefire is an equitable arrangement, considering the Mandalorians' plight. You've made them pay dearly for our own losses, after all."

"But offering a ceasefire will show weakness," Malak said, crossing his massive arms.

"It seems to me we already appear weak," the Chancellor countered. "The best military strategist seen in a thousand years has disappeared. Our blood is already in the water."

"Yes," Malak said, "and the Firaxin sharks won't accept a ceasefire when they can almost taste their prey. We _must_ keep fighting."

"But you forget that they, too, are bleeding. Lives will be saved all around if we stop this madness now."

"It won't buy peace. They'll attack again as soon as they're finished licking their wounds."

"I doubt that, General. We'll have our top ambassadors negotiating for peace. With the Republic only a hyperspace jump away from their own homes, I don't see why they wouldn't be agreeable."

"But what about Onderon?" Surik said.

"That will be negotiated as well. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend with the Defense Ministry. Admiral Dodonna will deliver the terms of the ceasefire to the enemy fleet within the hour. If the enemy is non-responsive, you may, of course, continue to fight until they comply."

The Chancellor's blue holoprojection vanished, leaving only an empty chair in view. Surik's holoprojection shook its head.

"I hate giving up like this," she said. "If they accept this ceasefire, we won't be able to cross enemy lines for a rescue..."

"I know," Malak said. Then a devilish idea crept into his thoughts, bringing a rakish grin to his face. "So let's make sure we move the lines a little further."

Surik looked at him inquisitively, an eyebrow raised.

Malak shrugged. "We have an hour. Need any air support?"

"Malak, no."

"Most of the ion cannons in your area have been disabled."

"Um, the Mandalorian fleet?"

"Bah, it's just for an hour. I can handle them."

"Malak, don't."

"I can't lose my best friend."

"But how many lives will you trade for him? _If _he's even alive."

"The Chancellor did say we might need to make the Mandos compliant. I say we make 'em bleed."

Surik frowned. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"Doing something is better than doing nothing," he said. "Now get ready to move."

With the push of a button, Malak severed the comm, causing Surik's image to evaporate.

"I'm coming, Rev. Hang in there."

**.:.**

Bastila dreamed she was being swept away by a great river, tumbling forever, coughing, drowning, her body smacking against rocks. No, it wasn't a dream, her waking mind told her. As full consciousness returned, Bastila felt her body floating languidly, and yet also being tugged by some invisible force, though her body didn't move. It just bobbed up and down. Her arm ached, caught in a tangled dam of roots and vines, the force of the current threatening to rip her arm out of her socket. She opened her eyes, and winced at the light breaking through the clouds overhead. Ever so faintly over the gurgle of water, she thought she could hear the boom of cannon fire and bomb shells. If so, it was distant—too distant to be of any concern.

At least it had stopped raining. Not that it mattered while being immersed in a river. With a groan, she twisted her body, trying to wiggle free of the pile of branches, roots, and vines that so stubbornly reached out from the rocky shore to grip her arm. Her bruised muscles protested the motion. It was no use. Her armor was snagged at the shoulder, the thorny vines clawing between the plating and the cloth. She wouldn't get free unless she could shed her armor somehow. She reached with her free arm for the clasps that held her breastplate intact. It loosened with a snap. Then she wiggled some more, her muscles screaming as she first pulled her trapped arm out of its armored sleeve. Finally, with a forceful tug, her arm came free, the sleeve still caught. But now her other arm, once free, twisted violently, the armor the only thing keeping her from being carried away as the river's plunder. With a grimace, she struggled to get her arm free of the remaining sleeve.

All at once she was free, the river sweeping her away again. But she wasn't truly free. She tried to swim to the rocky shore that seemed just within reach, but the current desired to keep its captive. It slammed her into a rock, her wet fatigues scraping across its rough surface. She scraped past another rock, and another, felt the water threatening to overwhelm her, drown her.

Then she heard a roar that made her heart freeze. As she spun in the water, she caught sight of a sudden end to her journey. She made to swim away, but to no avail. Oh, that she had just remained caught in the dam!

Bastila drew one last, deep breath, even as she felt herself being swept over the waterfall's edge. Her stomach leaped to her throat as she fell, her mind only partially working to use the Force to soften the blow. Her body slapped the water, but that wasn't the worst part. The waterfall pressed in on her, crushed her. She sank into the depths, could feel the rocks at the bottom. Her lungs screamed for air even as her arms violently fought the water to swim away. She felt so heavy.

Just as she began to see spots in the glowing water, what was left of her oxygen-deprived mind reminded her of the armor. She desperately reached to pull the heavy armored boots from her already booted feet—the only way such large boots would fit—one at a time. Her lungs sucked in an involuntary breath of water. She stripped her shin plating, down to the last shreds of armored fabric, until only her fatigues and Republic-issued boots remained.

She couldn't see, couldn't think. With what little remained of her senses, she pushed against the vortex of water like frog, the Force her only lifeline.

Reluctantly, the river released its captive. She came up for air coughing water, gasping, her lungs burning. The current seemed to slow, the water more shallow, and she drifted gently with it, exhausted, everything aching.

As her senses returned, so did the realization that she was quite alone. _Where was Revan?_

Her eyes darted around her. Jungle vines and branches draped over the lazy river, which had widened, welcoming another waterfall ahead that poured its own water into it. But still she didn't see anyone but herself. Had he drowned?

"Revan?" she shouted, knowing it was foolish to do so. She shouted it again and again as she floated.

Then she caught sight of a lump to her right. She would have thought it another slick rock due to the shadows cast by the trees, except that it moved.

"Revan!" She swam toward him, and staggered onto the rocky shore. It was him! He was lying on his stomach, his wet bandages barely clinging for dear life to his scarred backside . A groan met her ears.

"Stop shouting," he mumbled.

"Revan!" she said, her voice a mere breath as she quickly scanned his back for any wounds before determining it was safe to roll him over.

He winced as his backside flopped onto the rocks beneath him.

Bastila hurriedly gauged Revan's wounds, an old training from her younger years taking over, blocking out Revan's protests. She peeled off the dangling bandages. Several of his sutures had ruptured. Blood oozed out of deep cuts. Thanks to the abuse of the river, his rib cage looked even more bruised. If he didn't have a cracked rib before, he probably did now.

Her hands fumbled in her various fatigue pockets. Surely some of her medical supplies survived her misadventure.

"Bastila, you need to run."

There! She dug out a tube of paste from a small kolto pack buried in her vest pouch.

"Bastila!" He gripped her wrist with a fist of iron.

Her mouth made to protest, but her voice died on her lips. A not so distant howl pierced the air. The sound made her freeze, listening. Another howl from another direction met the first. Their enemies were closing in. Perhaps they had found her chest piece up river, still tangled in the dam.

"Run!" Revan growled, pushing her wrist away.

"No," Bastila said. "I didn't come all this way for nothing."

"You will have if they capture you," he said.

"We don't leave people behind."

"That's the marines, you foolish girl!"

"Well, it ought to be the Jedi," Bastila said, popping off the tube cap.

Revan was about to retort, but a growl in the tree branches above them stopped him short. Both Jedi froze. More growls descended from the trees. Slowly, Bastila raised her head, looking where Revan's eyes were intently fixed. The leaves rustled, then stilled. Something had heard them, and was preparing to pounce. Bastila could almost feel the creature's eyes boring into her. Whatever it was, it was no kath hound. It was nearly impossible to catalog the plethora of native Dxun beasts that hunted in the trees. Her imagination immediately began filling in the blanks with the most gruesome creatures she'd heard of. Her hand drifted to her lightsaber. It was gone. Had the river washed it away? She hadn't even remembered losing it.

A low growl, so deep that she could barely hear it, whispered on the breeze. Bastila prepared to draw on the Force. She'd fight whatever this thing was hand-to-hand if she had to.

Then she heard clicking. There, to the left. No, now to the right. The clicking erupted from every tree branch. It was a sound she had become most familiar with, and it sent shivers down her spine.

A beast shrieked as the leaves above shook violently. Then just as suddenly as the attack began, its shrieks died to a whimper that faded with the breeze. All was still.

Bastila's eyes scanned the leaves, the branches, and the trunks. The hidden enemy seemed to have vanished, though she still felt as though she were being watched. Then she saw it—or rather, _them_. Unblinking eyes softly reflecting the morning light from a shadow. They weren't just in the trees. They were on the ground, in the bushes...everywhere.

She sucked in a sharp breath. "Kinrath."

Another howl reminded her of the other danger pressing upon them. The hounds had drawn closer.

"You need to run," Revan hissed. "I'll only slow you down."

"No," Bastila said, a crazy idea forming in her mind. "We need to hide." Stuffing the kolto back into her vest pocket, she grabbed his arm to lift him. "Get up, and don't you dare fight me on this!"

Grudgingly, Revan complied, leaning on her for support as he rose. He grimaced as he stood, his lungs wheezing sharply. Blood spattered his lips as he coughed.

Bastila steered him away from the river and into the trees.

"Why aren't we going away from the kinrath?" he growled.

"Remember on Dantooine?" Bastila said. "Where there's kinrath, there's a nest. Where there's a nest, no kath hound will dare tread."

"I hate you," Revan said, even as their path quickly led them to a dark cavern carved against a cliff wall. Its gaping maw was overshadowed by a tangle of trees and brush. Hissing erupted all around them, warning them to keep away.

Revan stopped at the entrance, hesitating. "You're just getting me back for Corellia."

A wicked grin curled Bastila's mouth. "Come on!" she laughed, almost diabolically, and nudged him onward. Together, they took their first step into the narrow cave entrance.

That's when the kinrath within emerged into the light. From behind, they now fully revealed themselves. The two Jedi were trapped. Bastila closed her eyes, and sent a soothing wave of the Force into the spider-like creatures. She'd used this trick with the kath hound the night before. It wasn't something anyone had taught her. It was much like Battle Meditation, only on a much smaller scale, intended to calm rather than excite.

The creatures capitulated, their lines breaking. Slowly, they backed away, almost treating them like they were fellow kinrath. Revan and Bastila hobbled deeper into the cave.

And not a moment too soon. Another howl erupted from behind. It was much too close for comfort. Surely they had found the place where they had washed ashore. Bastila urged Revan to quicken his pace. He coughed in protest, but complied. Here and there, a few kinrath hissed at them, but Bastila simply calmed them with a wave of her free hand.

The light darkened quickly. Bastila had to stop and fumble in her pockets for anything that could serve as a light. She found a small flashlight, and flicked it on. The battery wouldn't last more than an hour, but she prayed they wouldn't be here that long.

The tunnel at last widened into a massive cavern. Bastila swept her puny flashlight across it. Giant eggs littered the ground everywhere, some cracked open and empty, others oozing slime and waiting to hatch. Much larger kinrath now greeted her, staring curiously at them with their lidless eyes. Bastila dropped Revan next to empty eggs, close to the exit, but out of the path of the kinrath that scurried back and forth.

"Congratulations," Revan coughed. "You've delivered food for their young, and they didn't even have to carry us. How very thoughtful of you."

Ignoring his snide remark, Bastila knelt next to him, listening. The howling grew louder, and a horn joined them. Neither Jedi dared breath. More barking—not the barking of hounds, but of men. Then a hound yelped. Bastila could hear hissing beyond the tunnel, and angry clicking. A blaster shot fired, followed by shouting. Then all fell silent. Their enemy had passed them by.

"Your gamble paid off," Revan whispered at last. "It won't be long before they figure it out, though."

"Hopefully we won't be here when they do," Bastila said. "Hold this for me." She handed him the flashlight, and yanked out the kolto tube once more. Gingerly, she peeled away what remained of Revan's bandages. He pointed the flashlight awkwardly at his own chest. As gentle as she was, he still winced as she applied the paste to each wound, whether its stitches had held or not. One wound appeared to be infected—the one Cassus Fett must have favored when twisting his knife. Bastila frowned at the memory of what she'd seen when she'd first entered the encampment. She could not even fathom the evil that would make someone enjoy inflicting such torture.

She made her way down to his injured leg, peeling back the large gash in the fabric of his pant leg. She studied the wound. Though well-tended, the skin was angry and bruised. The injury was much wider than the one she had witnessed, which caused her to raise an eyebrow.

"They shot a harpoon through it," he said.

Bastila nodded. "You're fortunate it didn't hit bone."

"I don't know. It might have."

"Let me paste it now and we'll come back to it later." She squeezed the paste onto the skin. Oddly enough, he didn't wince or suck in a sharp breath as he had before. She shot him a concerned glance before laying the tube aside. Then she fumbled in her pockets for more medical supplies, first looking for any kind of pain killer. She found one capsule for her efforts. Despite her own aches—especially her aching head—she knew who needed it the most.

"I lost my canteen," she said, handing him the capsule, which he swallowed dry.

She fumbled through her pockets again, and found her prey in her right pant leg, unwrapping the small sewing kit. Even when she wasn't disguised as Corporal Quinn, she always carried quite the arsenal of medical supplies in her Jedi robes. Thankfully, the thread was still there, otherwise she'd have had to use her own hair. She wiped the needle in the kolto paste, having no other means of disinfecting it. Then she deftly strung the thread into the needle.

"Do you actually know what you're doing with that?" Revan said, his eyes narrowing with skepticism as he aimed the flashlight at Bastila's hands.

"You know, Revan," she replied, "just because you read my record doesn't mean you know everything about me."

"Oh, so"—he winced as she plunged the needle into his skin—"you're a...medic now, is that it?"

She went in for another stitch, eying his face as he grit his teeth. The flashlight shook in his hand ever so slightly. She decided it was best to keep him entertained while she worked. "No, I'm not a medic, but I did cross-train for several years with the Jedi Medical Corp, entirely off-record."

Revan's eyes popped open wide, just as she had expected. "Why"—he grimaced—"did you do that?"

She grabbed the tiny pair of scissors from the kit, and snipped the thread. "I barely made Padawan. I wanted to see if I stood a better chance making medic than Knight. Of course, the Jedi Masters discovered my Battle Meditation, and the rest is history. But before that, Master Vrook encouraged me to spend some time with the healers, so I did some volunteer work on the side."

"And you didn't like it?"

She unwound the last bit of thread with a frown. She would have to use this small segment wisely. "Don't get me wrong," she said, wiping the needle with more kolto and threading it once more. "I wanted to be a Knight, but I didn't think I'd make it. I thought a back-up plan was wise. I liked the Medical Corp well enough."

"But you wanted to be a Knight more?"

She nodded, still undecided as to whether the thread would be enough for the long gash across his stomach, or if she should try changing her stitch pattern to make it last.

"Yes," she said, her mind voting to make the thread last so that she didn't have to use her hair. It wouldn't be nearly as strong as the thread, anyway.

"Well, it's a good thing you have something to fall back on, because you're going to to need it after I'm through with you."

Bastila smirked, plunging the needle once more into his skin. "Then you won't mind if I practice on your leg next."

Revan scowled as she sewed his skin shut, but Bastila just kept on smirking. She had had no idea before now that she had such a sadistic side to her personality. She was rather enjoying the indulgence. At last she finished sewing the gash, just barely having enough thread for it. She only wished she had antibiotics for the angry red skin around the deep knife wound in his side.

"All right, Master," she said, placing the needle to the side. "I need you to help me." She waved a hand at his legs. "I need to see everything."

Revan caught on. "Your thoughts are very inappropriate, Padawan."

"You either help me or I have to cut off a pant leg." She snipped the air with the little scissors that came with the sewing kit, a smirk on her face.

With a scowl, he handed her the flashlight, and awkwardly began rolling up—more like scrunching up—his pant leg past his thigh.

Bastila rolled her eyes, reluctantly helping him. "I'm not one of your fawning fans, Revan. You don't have to be so squeamish."

"Just do whatever you're going to do," he grumbled.

She studied the wound more thoroughly now. "Does it still hurt?" she asked.

"Of course it hurts."

"That's a good thing. I'd be worried if it didn't." She pursed her lips, thinking. "If it scraped your bone..."

"I'm able to put some weight on it," he protested.

"You can do that with a fracture."

"You can?" He swallowed hard.

"Don't worry," Bastila said with a smirk. "I shouldn't set this without putting you under a scanner first."

Revan released a breath.

"But if it's fractured, I should splint it." She pressed her fingers to his bruised skin around the wound, noting again the lack of wincing. "Yes, I should definitely splint this. As soon as it's clear outside."

Revan fell into a fit of coughing, blood lacing his lips.

Bastila's brow furrowed. "You likely have a contusion of the lungs," she said.

"Happens when someone beats you senseless," Revan said, coughing again.

Bastila wiped the blood from his chin with her sleeve. Silence draped between them. Bastila reclaimed her flashlight from him, daring to glance around her. Several kinrath had wandered closer, studying them. One of them was quite large, with hair bristling up its legs. She swallowed the bile that rose to her throat. These things just made her want to drop the flashlight and run out the tunnel screaming.

As if in response to her fear and disgust, a hiss left the large one's fanged mouth, its body curling up tightly, coiling to attack.

Bastila closed her eyes, soothing it. She felt it relax before she risked another glance.

"You need to run as soon as they're gone," Revan said.

Bastila turned back to him. "Stop talking like that," she said. "Besides, I'm not leaving you here to get eaten."

"I think I know how to keep a nest of kinrath to stay away. You need to run for help at least. I'm not walking out of here. Forget the splint. Just go. That river we fell into just fed us into the main river that runs north. Follow it home. We can't be more than twenty miles out."

Bastila grudgingly nodded. He had a point. Briefly, she closed her eyes, feeling for lifeforms. The Mandalorians were still too near, but they seemed to be moving away still. "In twenty minutes," she said, opening her eyes again. "We'll see how far I can get."

"Twenty," Revan said, "and not a minute more. And even if a miracle happens and you survive your suicide run, don't think I won't have it in for you. I'll make you wish you were never born."

"Yes, Master," Bastila said, letting out a heavy breath, and laying a hand on his wheezing chest. Closing her eyes, she mentally felt out his injuries. Ever so softly, like the touch of a feather, she sent a healing wave of energy through him. Almost instantly, she felt him relax, his chest breathing more softly. A few moments passed before she opened her eyes. His own eyes had closed.

She lifted her hand, about to turn off the flashlight to save its pitiful battery life. As the beam swept across his body one last time, she caught a glint of metal hanging off his neck on the ground—his dog tag. It surprised her that the river hadn't swept it away, but there it was for the taking. With a mischievous smirk, she quietly picked it up from the ground next to his head, studying the etched lettering in the dim light.

Her smirk turned to laughter. "That's it? That's your real name? No wonder you go by Revan!"

A hand snatched it from her palm. Bastila jumped back in surprise. "Don't you ever call me by that name," Revan growled. "It was never my name. Do you understand?"

Bastila stared wide-eyed into the pair of eyes that met hers. A deep bitterness filled them. No, it wasn't just bitterness; it was hatred. But it was more than the hatred that nearly made her drop her flashlight. It was the swirling vortex of the Force behind those eyes, as though Revan had contained it in a bottle and finally let it out. It was the dark side, she knew. The oppressive aura that filled the entire moon now filled him. Behind her, the entire cavern of kinrath hissed.

"All right," Bastila said softly, a shaky hand raised in supplication. "I'm sorry." She sent a soothing wave throughout the cavern, hoping the kinrath responded, and Revan with them.

Revan relaxed, laying his head back, his eyes closing. "Sorry," he muttered.

"It's all right," Bastila said. "Get some sleep."

She turned off the flashlight, plunging them both into darkness. Quietly, she lay down next to him, staring into the pitch black above them, though not daring to fall asleep lest she have a concussion. Jolee Bindo's words on Kashyyyk returned to her, making the hair stand up on her neck and arms. The dark side was calling him again, and it seemed to her that it would not be denied until it had him.

**.:.**

Cassus Fett stalked through the mud, the boom of missiles and the flash of cannons filling his senses. He was impervious to all the chaos and rush of feet, however. He had been summoned. The only thing he could see was the tent ahead of him, the only thing he could hear was the rebuke he was sure would come, and the only thing he could feel were the aches in his body. Wearily, his shoulders slumped, he parted the tent flaps, and stepped inside.

Mandalore stood over a table, a map spread beneath his hands. Others surrounded him—Ordo and Bralor among them. Ordo had arrived first, to Cassus' chagrin.

Cassus bowed at the waist, his fist over his heart. As the silence stretched, he finally heard the chaos outside, the blaster fire, and the thumping of his heart.

"I understand from Ordo that the gamma outpost suffered some damage?" Mandalore said at last.

Cassus raised himself, standing at ease now that he was acknowledged. But he was anything but at ease within.

"Our Jedi prisoner escaped," he said, straining to keep his voice even, and yet stiffening for the rebuke he knew was coming.

"Yes, yes, I know. And our quarry turned back to save him, of all things."

"Our men are hunting them even now," Cassus said. "I would be there with him if you had not summoned us." Cassus heard Ordo snort at that, but he ignored him. "I assure you: They will be captured."

"I'm sure. But I understand there were losses?"

Cassus nodded, wary that he would be blamed somehow. "We lost four to the river. Another has burns from an explosion in the camp."

"But you are well."

Wast that concern Mandalore expressed, or blame? Blame, Cassus was certain.

"Never mind," Mandalore said. "As you can see, the Republic has pushed the front lines further south and east. You would have had to have abandoned the outpost anyway." He straightened, and walked around the table to stand in front of Cassus. "We have other matters to discuss. Come, join us."

Cassus came to stand beside Bralor—as far away from Ordo as he could.

"I have called you and Ordo here because I do not need two of my generals chasing after a Jedi. As important as her capture is, the battle has taken a turn."

"The Republic has offered a ceasefire," Bralor interjected.

Cassus raised his head haughtily. "Then they are desperate. Surely when Jendri arrives we will crush them. It would be my honor to assist in repelling them until he comes." Another snort from Ordo, less easily ignored.

"Jendri is not coming," Mandalore said. "He is harried in his own battle. No, I am afraid it is we who are the desperate ones. We cannot win. We will accept the ceasefire, and all of you shall assist in the withdrawal to this point here." He pointed to the ridge on the map—just a few miles south of their current location. "We will make this ridge our new front lines. If the Republic deceives us, we will be able to resume our attack from higher ground."

Ordo shook his head. "Then we are surrendering?" he asked, his grizzled face conflicted. "They will strip us of everything."

"They already have. It is time we acknowledged it."

"No," Cassus said, for once agreeing with Ordo. "We can win. Revan is dead, and the Jedi weapon is lost in the jungle. If anything we should focus our efforts on capturing her. Even the mere threat of her death would send the Republic into a panic."

"Do you dare question Mandalore?" Bralor said, his broad shoulders rolling back to an imposing posture.

"I only offer Mandalore my advice as his general," Cassus said, bowing his head and bringing his fist to his heart once more.

"Then allow me to offer mine," Bralor said. "Our losses on the ground are crippling. One hour ago the Republic fleet began to engage us with space-to-surface missiles. Our fleet is in battle with theirs even now."

"Since when did we back away from a fight?" Cassus sneered.

"Since when did you ever want to risk your life in one?" Mandalore said.

Cassus flinched at the rebuke—one he had not expected to come so bluntly from his own father before others. From Ordo, yes, but not from him. He averted his eyes. "We have no choice but to win," he said, his voice low.

"No," Mandalore said with a slow shake of his masked visage. "Consider this: Inevitably, the Republic will force us into our fortress, and besiege us. They will senselessly kill thousands of their own to take it. We will withdraw, only to have them finally besiege us on our own home worlds. Our homes will be leveled, and our children killed, as we have killed the Republic's. Tell me, why shouldn't we do what we can now to avoid such a fate when a way out is so readily offered?"

"You forget the overlords."

"No, they have forgotten us. Tell me, where are they? Have you seen one lately? Where is the great fleet they promised? Where are they to take their kingdom after we have paved the way? They aren't coming, nor do I any longer wish them to. They have deceived us. They are without honor, and we were fools to ever fight for them."

Silence blanketed the tent. It seemed almost as though the fighting without came to a halt, waiting for the outcome of this debate.

"You betray the overlords," Cassus said at last, lifting his eyes to stare down his father, no longer caring that he was addressing Mandalore. "We must win, or else it will be the overlords that destroy us rather than the Republic. From where will we get our tribute? They will know we have failed our task if we do not send it."

"The overlords are the traitors. And yes, I am a traitor as well for ever having listening to them. They have overturned our honor and replaced it with brutality. I pray you all forgive me for my folly. I have failed to lead with honor, and have allowed the overlords to change us into nothing more than their foot soldiers."

The men in the tent shifted uncomfortably, but Mandalore continued. "There is no shame in this," he said. "Not unless we persist in senseless death when defeat is inevitable. But if we stop now, we will have salvaged our honor. See? We have accomplished what we set out to do, and we have done gloriously. We have found a worthy opponent. I am proud of you all. I only wish you could be proud of me."

Mandalore's mask shifted, peering into each general's eyes. Slowly, Bralor nodded his head. Ordo followed suit, as did the others. _The boot-licker_, Cassus thought. Then Mandalore at last shifted his eyes to Cassus, waiting for a nod.

Cassus wouldn't give it. Instead, he did the unthinkable—the thing that no Mandalorian would dare to do. He walked out.

He walked past the tents, past the cannons, past the warriors.

A hand pulled on his shoulder from behind. He spun around, ready to bury his fist into Ordo's face.

But it wasn't Ordo. It was Mandalore.

He froze.

"Look at me, boy," Mandalore said, his golden mask peering into him. He hadn't called him a boy since his childhood. "There is no shame, do you hear me?"

Rage swallowed the younger man, and he flung Mandalore's hand from his shoulder. "No, you hear _me_," he hissed. "How many times have you shamed me for a retreat? How many?"

"I never shamed you for a retreat," Mandalore said, backing away slightly. "I only wanted you to learn honor."

"No, you wanted me to _win_."

Mandalore gripped both his shoulders fiercely now. "My son, listen to me!"

_Son?_ When was the last time his father had called him his son?

"It isn't about winning!" Mandalore said. "It was _never_ about winning. It is about _how_ you win. It is about honor. We are warriors, yes, but for whom? I will not be dishonored by these overlords any longer. Have you never wondered whether we fought the wrong armies?"

"Does it matter?" Cassus said, his skin crawling with the desire to shove the old man away, to not have those heavy hands pinning him to the spot. "What else is there? Are we to go back to our rock of a home world? We have the chance to be conquerors, to have ultimate power!"

"Power? Have the overlords stripped you of your roots, boy?" He shook his head. "I should never have allowed their emissaries into our home. Look at yourself! They have changed you! What happened to the boy who only wanted to slay Krayt dragons and win renown? Oh, my son!"

Cassus felt something in him soften as Mandalore's words burrowed into his soul. _Son_. Warm memories resurfaced, desperately digging themselves out of the grave in which he'd long ago buried them. His mother before she passed, and his father before he'd worn the mask and become the new Mandalore. It was a happy family, a father and son who loved to wrestle and spar before coming home for supper, his mother insisting they clean up before they ate. Then she died, both hot and cold with fever. Everything changed. Father put on the mask, and a young boy was utterly orphaned. Pain replaced the warmth that had momentarily spread through his chest.

"My son," Mandalore pleaded, his fingers digging into Cassus' shoulders. "I am doing this for you. I'm saving you, my boy. Reclaim your honor. Here. Now."

_Honor._ An even deeper pain clawed its way out of Cassus' heart. He quickly buried it in the same grave all his past memories and pains belonged in. But bitterness was always quick to rise in its place. Still his father saw nothing good in him. There was nothing to praise, but only something deformed that had to be repaired.

"Honor?" Cassus hissed, shoving his father's hands from his shoulders once more, and stepping back. "Your honor has made you weak, and has cost us the war. We can still win this, if we show strength. I'll show you."

He turned his back.

"My son!"

He made no reply as he stalked away to his speeder. His men were still searching. He could rejoin them. And when he found her, he would have power, however small, over the Republic and their Jedi. Then he would kill her, because his father was right.

He had no honor.

**.:.**

Bastila jolted up, causing a stray kinrath to scurry off her leg. She listened, not daring to breath.

Another boom shook the cavern walls, vibrated up from the ground into her feet.

"Did you hear that?" she whispered.

Silence. Then another boom, followed what was undoubtedly a mass of distant blaster fire.

"The front lines," Revan said. "They've moved."

"They're very close. I might be able to reach them."

"Forget it. There might be a horde of Mandalorians between you and the Republic. Follow the plan."

He was right. And yet... "What if I send up a flare?"

"Then our hunters will know where you are. And even if it wasn't an idiotic idea, just how do you propose you send up a flare? Do you even have a flare gun?"

"No, but I can build a fire. We just need a signal. I can outrun the hunters. I have before. Besides, they're scattered in their search. I can manage any that find me."

"No. It's been past twenty minutes. You need to go _now_. Run north. That's an order. No more playing games. They'll expect you to go for the nearest source of help."

But she'd already made her decision. She heard it in his wheezing. Reaching into a pocket, she pulled out her flashlight. It's slender beam lit Revan's face, causing him to wince from the sudden light. As she had suspected, there was more blood on his lips, dripping down his chin. His injuries weren't just contusions, but more likely a punctured lung from cracked ribs. His body was drenched with sweat unmerited even in this humidity. He didn't have much time. He needed treatment, and he needed it now.

"I'll bring help," she said, her jaw set in determination.

She tossed him the flashlight, and ran out the tunnel, nearly stumbling over several hissing kinrath in the dark.

"Bastila!" But she didn't hear him.

She staggered out into the light, wincing. Then she ran south, climbing up the ever rising slope beside the waterfall over which she'd tumbled. She froze at the top, listening. Over the wind in the trees and blaster fire she heard the unmistakable hum of aircraft flying overhead. She would set her flare here, just far enough from Revan's hiding place to keep him safe. After all, they would come for her, and not him. Then she would run to the front lines, gaining whatever distance from the flare that she could before her enemy closed in.

There was the problem of what to use for a flare. No, she didn't have a flare gun, nor so much as a match to light a fire.

But she did have one last thermal detonator.

She unzipped a vest pocket, pulling it out. It was a desperate move. She would have to aim very precisely at the tree tops, and her timing would have to be perfect. Even then, there was no guarantee anyone would take notice—anyone but her enemies, of course.

She grabbed a branch from the ground. She would need a weapon. At last, she flicked the detonator's switch, watching the lights on the orb, counting. She flung it into the trees as the last light winked out.

The explosion shoved her to her back. Heat scorched her face, and she rolled over and crawled to get away from the flaming trees. Over the roar of the fire, a hound bawled.

She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the burning embers floating into her face.

_The branch!_ Her hands groped for it, and found it. Hurriedly, she held it to the flames until its oily sap caught fire itself.

_Run!_

Her legs carried her with a will of their own. Through vines, over roots, and between gnarled trees she ran. All the while, the howling pursued her. Her wild heartbeat and gasping lungs counted the seconds that passed, and then the minutes. All seemed like hours.

A silhouette flitted through the trees to her left—a mass of gruff fur and yellowed fangs. She didn't wait for it to lung for her. She lunged first, and scorched its fur with her firebrand. It yelped, its jaws snapping at her before she managed to kick it. It fled into the trees, its fur coat ablaze. At a growl from behind, she whipped around, slamming the beast into a tree with the wave of her hand. Its spine snapped with a sickening crunch.

A blaster shot caught her shoulder. Her vision went white, but not because of the searing pain.

A flash grenade.

She spun around with a grunt, brandishing her torch with wild swings.

"I knew you would come this way," a voice said, gloating. "Oh, they all said you'd surely go north and escape, but I said you were too foolish to save yourself."

She knew that voice. It wasn't Ordo's. It was Fett's. The butcher knew no mercy. Panic threatened to send her heart beating through her chest. Warily, she faced the direction of his voice.

"Your boyfriend needs medical attention, I take it?" Now the voice had moved. He was pacing around her. She blinked, struggling to see.

_No, don't see. Feel. _One of Revan's many reprimands in training.

Flash grenades were the crutch of every Mandalorian when taking on Jedi. Remove the Jedi's senses, and make them panic at their sudden loss. Move in for the kill before they recovered.

Every Jedi knew not to rely on their eyes, and yet it was only natural, a nasty habit few could break, and only in dire need. Which was why ever since her first misfortune with flash grenades on Kashyyyk, Revan had made it a point to blindfold Bastila during their many sparring sessions.

She closed her eyelids, for what good it did, and felt out her surroundings.

"So you must be foolish, or brave," Cassus rambled on, his voice coming from yet another direction.

Bastila locked onto his presence, explored it, sensed it, just as though she were in Battle Meditation.

"Personally, I think the two terms are synonymous."

Why hadn't he attacked yet? He should have tried to kill her immediately after throwing the flash grenade. He was wary of her. Good. But there was more. He was trying to take her alive.

She heard him rather than felt him unsheath a vibroblade. Now he was toying with her, the arrogant schutta.

"Still, you've got nerve. I respect that. It will make your torture all the more entertaining."

She opened her eyes, blurry colors indicating her vision was returning. She sensed his finger tightening on a trigger.

She dove to the side. A blaster shot impacted the ground where she'd stood, set to stun. She threw her firebrand at him before he could fire again, and charged him.

She sent a wave of energy at him, but he was ready for it. A harpoon whizzed past her arm, burying itself into the tree trunk behind her. The cord attached to it snapped taut, saving Cassus from likewise being buried in a tree trunk.

Another flash grenade, followed by the whoosh of a blade. Bastila blindly jumped back with a flip just as it swept at her legs.

"Mandalore said to bring you in alive, sweetheart. He didn't say you had to have your limbs."

She staggered blindly away, cautious. _Feel him out. Feel everything. Know where he is and what he is doing._

His blaster. Even as he lunged at her again, she stretched out with the Force, the rifle slamming into her palms. She fired, only to have the shots deflected by the whirling blade. Cassus swung his sword. She narrowly blocked it with the rifle, the force of the blow sending a shudder into her wounded shoulder. The weapon cracked, misfiring into the air. Cassus swung again, hammering the blade through the rifle, and kicking her in the gut with his boot before she could summon the Force once more. She landed on her back.

He swung the blade up high, on the cusp of swinging it down to hack off a limb.

"Drop your weapon!"

Cassus hesitated above her.

"This is General Surik of the Jedi Mercy Corp. Mandalore has ordered a ceasefire. You and your men will be escorted to the agreed upon demarcation line away from Republic territory. If you resist, you will be fired upon."

Bastila turned her head, and saw the blurry shapes of soldiers amid the trees.

"And I'll be the first to shoot if you don't comply," another voice said. Even with her impaired vision, she instantly recognized the gruff voice of Canderous Ordo. A few other armored shapes came into view—all Mandalorian. Kath hounds clung to their masters, submissive and subdued, whining.

Above her, Cassus Fett snarled, his vibroblade almost shaking with rage. Slowly, he lowered the sword and sheathed it.

Bastila exhaled her adrenaline, and inhaled relief as he walked away, the other Mandalorians following. Republic soldiers marched after them with watchful eyes.

A hand was offered—Surik's. Bastila took it with her good arm, and stood shakily to her feet.

"Revan. Revan is-"

"Don't worry. We found him first, thanks to your bonfire. Hard to miss a guy with that much of a presence in the Force, eh?"

"You mean ego?" Bastila said, her voice winded and shallow.

Surik laughed. "Come on. We have a stretcher. You look like you need it."

Bastila nodded, tears of relief streaming down her face, her body on the verge of collapsing. Arms wrapped around her as she half laughed, half sobbed.

"You did good, kid. You did good."

**.:.**

A/N: Don't panic. This is hardly the end. The next chapter will be what I originally intended to be the story's midpoint. As in, the middle, and a point of false victory or defeat. As you'll see, it's a little bit of both. After that, pressure will increase, the bad guys will close in, and...Well, I can't spoil it for you, now can I? My point is, we're nowhere near being done, and I fully expect a 40-chapter story by the end of it all. I hope you enjoy this chapter.


	20. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER 20**

_Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit._

Bastila trudged down the ship corridor toward the _Ravager_'s med bay, one arm still in a sling and the other arm holding a bundle of clothing tightly to her body. Her boot steps echoed eerily off the walls, reminding her how alone she was in facing what was sure to be her doom. With every step, her foreboding deepened. In all her prior visits, Revan had been heavily medicated and in no condition to scold her, though he had been quite grouchy. But now?

From the moment Revan had awoken from surgery the day before, he'd heatedly insisted on seeing her, though not for the reason she'd feared. No, from what she had gathered from his slurred speech, he wanted to know everything that was happening, and had even ordered that all the Jawas be immediately thrown out the airlock. Then he'd slipped into belligerent Huttese, which a medical droid had translated, going on about how stampeding Banthas were going to kill them all. In short, his micromanaging persona had awoken from the anesthesia, even if his brain hadn't. It had required Malak and Surik's repeated assurances to coax him back to sleep. All was well. The troops were being slowly airlifted from Dxun's surface, per negotiations. He could rest at last, for the time being.

He'd awoken several times since, but hadn't been much for conversation. She guessed the doctors had grown tired of his temperament and had increased his sedatives. Still, he would surely be weened off the pain medication in anticipation of his release, and its fading haze would replaced with the remembrance that his Padawan had defied his orders. Her lucky streak was up, and it was time to face the consequences of her actions.

A rough collision with a muscular form jarred Bastila from her brooding. She staggered back, dropping the bundle of clothes, and looked up to see a frightfully tall form looming over her, armored in red, Jedi robe billowing in the current of the ventilation shaft blowing down the med bay corridor.

"It helps to look up when you're walking," Malak said, his voice as deep as his toned body and imposing height boasted.

"Oh! Sorry." Bastila averted her gaze downward uncomfortably.

"How's Revan doing?"

She frowned slightly, looking back up at him. "I was just on my way to visit him."

"Why? He's still asleep, isn't he?"

Bastila's eyes narrowed in suspicion "Well, if you think he's asleep, then why are you visiting?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

His lips dropped into a scowl. Busted. "All right. Promise not to tell?"

Bastila knew instantly what he was up to—a prank. She'd been around this "gentleman" far too long to think he was simply concerned that his friend was well rested. Still, she'd never actually seen the big oaf pull a prank on Revan. They had always teamed up together, like schoolyard bullies. Her curiosity was piqued, to say the least.

"It depends," she said, still undecided.

He crossed his bulging arms. "You can borrow my shower card for the day," he said with a knowing smirk.

A real shower with actual water? Not sonic? She'd already burned down her own card's time to nothing just washing the filth of Dxun from her bruised body.

"But it's only valid on your ship," Bastila said. "It's no good on the _Ravager_."

"My ship's being towed to port," Malak said. "I was a bad boy with mine, remember?" He drew out a small card from the depths of his robe pocket. "This one's brand new for this ship, sister."

She wavered. It would be so nice to have yet another shower, and he had no idea how fast she could burn through the minutes. He'd have a mere pittance of time left on it when she was through, just enough to wash his face if he was quick. She licked her lips, almost tasting the payback.

"Deal!" she said, holding out her hand.

He shook it, gripping her petite hand tightly in his massive paw.

"No, you idiot!" Bastila said. "The card!"

"Oh!" He put the card in her palm. "Leave me a few minutes, all right?" he said.

_Not in a million light-years_, she thought. "Now spill."

Malak looked conspiratorially from side to side to ensure the corridor was clear. Satisfied, he dropped his voice to a whisper. "I've been owing Revan payback."

"Oh?" Payback on both of them? Fantastic!

"For this," he said, and pointed to his bald, tattooed head.

Bastila scrunched her brow. "I don't understand."

Malak buried both hands into his robe pockets, and excavated what appeared to be a small gun with a pointy needle on its barrel in one hand, and an electric razor in the other.

"I used to have a full head of hair until he came along. You have no idea how long I've been waiting for him to fall asleep." He smiled as he flicked on the razor, the device buzzing with vengeance.

Bastila shook her head in disbelief. "Why don't you just grow it back?"

He flicked off the razor, and buried both it and the tattoo gun back into his robe pockets. "I don't know. I guess I kind of like the look. Though I had to ink over the smiley face."

Bastila couldn't help but lift her sleeve to her mouth to cover her snicker. "Well, he's awake now. I'm supposed to pick him up."

Malak frowned. "Why didn't you say so?"

"I just did," Bastila said. "Shame, too. Would have been a riot."

"Yeah," he said, scratching his bald head.

"Of course, for a price, I suppose he should get some rest after I drop him off at his quarters..."

"Oh?"

"I'm sure he'll be prescribed some pain medication..."

"How much will this cost me?"

"I want your dessert card for the mess for the next month."

Malak shook his head. "Uh uh, sister. No way."

"Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've had chocolate?"

"Chocolate? I want my pudding! And I like vanilla."

"Chocolate, or no deal."

Malak grudgingly reached for his dessert card, grumbling his wonder at how she could have possibly burned through her own card within her first two days back in the fleet.

"Fine," he said, slapping it into her palm. "But I want my payback today."

"Deal. I'll have him asleep within the hour."

Malak stooped, picking up the bag of clothing and handing it to her.

"Pleasure doing business," Bastila said coolly.

"Pleasure's all mine," Malak said with a wicked grin.

The two parted ways, Malak retreating to bide his time, and Bastila making her way to one of the med bay's kolto tank rooms. She came to the doorway, and hesitated. With a deep breath, she stuffed down the sick feeling in her gut, and stepped through, the doors sliding open in response.

Revan sat groggily on a cot across from a row of kolto tanks, some filled with silhouettes, some empty and being refilled. Revan himself was wrapped tightly in a blanket, his hair damp and face dripping with greenish kolto fluid. Bastila could smell its saltiness even from the threshold.

"Greetings, Commander!" a medical droid merrily chirped. "I am CT-3P. Patient number 4385 is ready for his release. Would you like for me to requisition a plush toy from the gift shop?"

Bastila raised her eyebrow at that. There certainly wasn't a gift shop aboard a naval vessel. Leave it to the Republic Navy to requisition discounted medical droids intended for a hospital.

"No, CT, that won't be necessary," she said. She dumped the bag of clothes on Revan's cot. "Here, dress."

The Jedi looked at her for the first time, his glare willing her to leave.

"I'll turn around. Does that make you feel better?" She spun about and stared at the white-washed wall. "CT, did the physician leave any special orders?"

"Yes, Commander. I'm so glad you asked!" The droid shuffled up beside her, and gave her a bottle with its metallic hand. "General Revan requires bed rest for the next twenty-four hours and two capsules no more than once every four hours. If he is still in pain by tomorrow, he can contact the medical bay front desk for a refill."

Bastila nodded. "Thank you. I'll be sure he gets plenty of sleep."

"Remember, he is not to operate heavy equipment while taking this medication. He may experience side effects. Side effects may include vomiting, diarrhea,-"

"That's quite all right, CT. I'll be sure to read him the label."

"Verbal waiver acknowledged."

"Are you dressed yet?"

Revan muttered something about having no privacy.

"General," the droid chirped, "would you like me to assist you-?"

"No!" Revan barked, sounding wide awake now.

"You should take your first capsules, General. Shall I fetch a glass of water for you?"

"I'm fine," Revan growled.

"My, my, he is grumpy!" the droid said to Bastila. "Perhaps I should send him a get well soon card and some flowers. Would you like to sign the card, Commander?"

"That won't be necessary," Bastila said with a smirk. "He's beyond help." She glanced over her shoulder. "Are you decent yet?"

"You're peeking," Revan said.

Bastila affixed her eyes back to the wall. "Just checking on you. You are taking quite a while. Sure you don't need-?"

"I said I'm fine." A pause. "There. Done. Happy?"

She turned around. Revan was leaning awkwardly against the cot, his legs wobbly.

"Don't forget your crutches, General," the droid said, shuffling over to him and handing him the two crutches that were leaning against the wall next to the bed.

"I can walk fine," Revan said, beginning to shuffle over to Bastila, not unlike the droid. One leg dragged behind him in a limp. He would likely always harbor a slight limp, thanks to the muscle loss from the harpoon.

"Come here, you stubborn man," Bastila muttered, and nestled her good shoulder under his arm, intending he use her as a human crutch.

"I can walk out of here myself," Revan said.

"You either walk with me, or use the crutches," Bastila said.

Revan snorted. "Now you're giving me orders?"

"As if you'll follow them."

"I could say the same about you."

Bastila flinched at that. _Here we go_, she thought. "Come on," she said. "At least humor me until we reach your quarters."

He silently agreed, shifting his weight to lean on her as he limped. They slowly shuffled out of the room.

"Have a good day!" the droid chirped behind them. "Do come back soon!"

Bastila rolled her eyes. She always hated working with medical droids. Most failed in basic empathy programming. She'd much rather interact with a flesh-and-blood physician or nurse, but of course they were currently overwhelmed with those in much worse condition than Revan was at present.

The two Jedi hobbled down the corridor in awkward silence. Well, it was awkward for Bastila, but stony for Revan. She didn't dare say anything lest he bite her head off with a grouchy retort.

One elevator ride and a long walk down a winding corridor, and they finally reached their destination. The door to Revan's quarters slid open, admitting the Jedi into the cramped space. Bastila ushered Revan to his bed.

"I'll be back with some tea," she said.

"I want caffa."

"Well, you're getting tea, decaffinated. You need to sleep."

She grabbed an empty mug from his desk and marched out of the room before Revan could further protest. At the nearest caffa station, she went to work, first rinsing out the mug before filling it with hot water. It was awkward tearing open the tea packet with only one arm, but she prevailed with her teeth. She steeped triumphantly steeped the tea bag in the steaming water, stalling for time, dreading her return. Her instincts informing her that Revan wouldn't be taking his pain medication voluntarily, she smiled slyly as she slipped out the bottle of medication, and popped open the cap, also with the aid of her teeth. A snap of two capsules sent powder into the stewing mug of tea. She gave it a stir before walking back to Revan's quarters.

When she entered, she found him sitting at his desk.

"What are you doing?" Bastila said. "You need to sleep!" She marched up to him, slamming the mug on the desk, the tea sloshing over the rim. "Now drink your tea and go to bed."

"You're not my commanding officer," he said, his eyes still poring over the datapad he'd picked up, effectively ignoring her.

"Well, you have doctor's orders, and as your aide-de-camp, I am obligated to ensure you follow them."

"The Jedi Mercy Corp is not under the jurisdiction of the Republic Navy, nor its medics. I am under no obligation to follow their orders." He was still pretending to read, pretending to ignore her. "You, on the other hand, are under obligation to obey mine." He slowly shifted his gaze to look at her.

Bastila swallowed hard, but stood her ground. "I take it you're feeling up to punishing me, Master. Shall I start by polishing all the boots in your closet? Or perhaps I could wax your lightsabers? They did find those at the crash site. I could also repair the crack in your mask. They found that nearby as well. I put them all in your desk drawer for you. Shame they found nothing of mine."

"I honestly don't know what to do with you," he said. "We had a truce, remember? You would follow my orders, and in return I would earn your loyalty."

"I seem to recall things differently, Master. I'd follow your orders, and you wouldn't expect me to turn into a mindless minion. You'll have to forgive me if I refused to obey your asinine orders."

"I don't forgive you. Of all the orders I've ever given you, you chose the most important one to disobey. Do you have any idea how stupid your actions were? Any idea at all? We could have both died."

"But we didn't."

"We were lucky."

"There is no such thing as luck, Master."

"No, there's just your own stupidity."

"I know I did the right thing."

"The right thing was to follow orders, and you well know it."

"Well, nobody else in the fleet knows it, Master. Everyone but you has given me nothing but praise."

"I bet you think you were so courageous. I hope your misplaced courage comforts you when you're age fifty and still not knighted."

"It's only a title, Master. You taught me that. Even if I never take my trials, I'll know that I passed them."

Revan ran his hands over his face and through his hair, and by that, Bastila knew that she had scored a point. She had given him no leverage with which to punish her.

He looked at her squarely, calculating, sizing her up. "Pack your things," he said at last.

"Excuse me?" She hadn't expected that.

"Get out. You're no longer my Padawn."

"You can't do that! You have an agreement with the Council!"

"Your Battle Meditation is no longer required, and I suspect it's only a matter of time before the Council questions your necessity here. You'll return to Coruscant on the first available transport."

"What makes you even think this ceasefire will last more than a few weeks?"

"Of what concern is that to you? You never wanted to be here."

"That's not fair," Bastila said, her voice low. She shifted the subject, not liking this direction one bit. "Of all the people who should understand what I did...You hypocrite! You defied the Jedi Council's orders to go to war in the first place. What makes my actions so different from yours? The entire war could have fallen apart with you dead. At least I recognize which of the two of us is more important to the war _you_ insisted on joining."

"The difference is that I didn't defy orders out of a teenager's crush."

Where before the room had been filled with a never ending shouting match, it was now filled by a heavy fog of silence. Bastila froze, stunned, unable to answer such an unexpected accusation. Her mind fell into a tailspin, alternating among outrage, denial, and doubt.

Revan's voice dropped to a quiet level, but it was no less accusing. "You allowed your attachment to cloud your judgment, and in doing so you could have cost the Republic the entire war."

"I...That's not-"

"Spare me. You've held an infatuation for me since we first met. I let it slide; I shouldn't have. For that, I apologize. Nevertheless, you're an endangerment to everyone around you, and I'd rather not have you here in such a state. Now get out."

Bastila hesitated, feeling paralyzed, even as heat burned her cheeks, revealing her confusion and embarrassment. She erected walls immediately, barricading her emotions deep within—all but her scorn. "Don't worry, Revan," she said. "I don't spare attachments for ingrates."

With a swoosh of her robes, she stormed out of his quarters. She dazedly found herself in her own quarters next door, barely remembered tripping over a confused T3. One moment she was haphazardly throwing robes and knickknacks with her one good arm into her old duffel bag; the next she found herself lying on her bed, the contents of her duffel bag somehow scattered across the floor, tears stinging her eyes, T3 beeping frantically.

That's when she realized he was right.

**.:.**

Revan twisted the hydrospanner, causing sparks to erupt like fireworks from the servos laid bare in what served as the droid's neck.

"Exclamation: Ouch! Medic!"

"Relax," Revan cooed. "One more twist, and we're done." He cranked the hydrospanner one last time, more sparks burning into his robes. "There!" He smacked the chassis plating back into place, and reached for the screwdriver to seal it shut.

"Query: Are you trying to permanently deactivate me, Master? Whatever did I do to deserve this?"

Revan tightened the last screw. "Nothing at all, but aren't you glad you have a shiny new motion tracker for all your trouble?"

"Statement: Ah, yes, Master! Sarcasm: All the better to catch your caffa mug should it run away, Master."

Revan snickered as he laid down the screwdriver beside the hydrospanner on his desk. "What's wrong? Not happy with being a protocol droid?"

The droid swiveled around with a stomp, its red eyes blinking fervently. "Statement: It's demeaning, Master. I could be so much more, given my unique Basilisk war droid cognitive module."

Revan stroked his chin, and leaned back in his chair. He winced as his ribcage protested, but shoved the pain aside, willing his body to relax into the seat. "Hmm, yes. We owe Bao-Dur for that stroke of genius, don't we? But what to do with the results? It's illegal for an individual citizen to turn you into a battle droid." He trailed off, pretending to think long on the subject. What had begun as tangle of wires and used chips housed in scrap metal had turned into quite the creation. His debt to Bao-Dur for teaching him how to create something with finesse from a scrap pile in his spare time could never be repaid. But the Basilisk war droid cognitive module? It was the barbeque sauce on the nerf steak. Thanks to Bao-Dur's help, Revan was able to input a touch of his own personality and reasoning into the module before installing. He could further upgrade through a neural interface attachment Bao-Dur had cobbled together, in case it needed more training from his own mind. Thus far, he quite enjoyed the results. The droid had a scathing sarcasm that rivaled his own.

"I've got it!" Revan said with a grin. "You could make cappuccinos! I bet you know exactly how I like mine."

"Disappointed statement: Why, oh why did you have to fire your aide-de-camp, Master?"

"Because she didn't follow my orders," Revan muttered, resting his chin on his fist as he leaned further back into his chair.

"Suggestion: You should consider deactivating her, then. It is most inappropriate that an inferior organic not obey Master."

A wry smile stretched across Revan's face. "Deactivate her, eh? Like a droid?"

"Affirmative. At the very least, she is in need of repairs if she cannot see that Master is to be obeyed. Personally, I would suggest that you scrap her entirely. Perhaps with the right programming, I could assist you in disassembling her?"

"But that would kill her," Revan said, feeling slightly disturbed at the suggestion. Was this droid actually volunteering itself for an assassination mission?

"Statement: Yes, as you organics put it."

"Well, 'scrapping' her is a bit over the top. I think firing her should repair the damage."

"Acquiescence: Very well, Master. But should you become tired of her lack of reason, feel free to reconsider my offer."

Revan shook his head, wondering what mad part of his mind the droid had adapted in its programming. "I'll be sure to let you know if I change my mind."

The droid's red eyes blinked. "Statement: A good decision, Master. Observation: You show much objectivity and reason, unlike your aide-de-camp. Your droid-like qualities are quite admirable, Master."

A swoosh of air caused Revan to snap his head at the door. A familiar bulk of sheer muscle hung in the doorway.

"Don't you ever knock?" Revan asked.

"Sorry," Malak said. "I thought you were asleep."

Revan smiled slyly. "I sensed a disturbance in the Force." He tapped the cold mug of tea on his desk. "Still trying to shave my head?"

"Always," the large man said. He slammed his massive fist several times on the door frame. "There. Can I come in?"

"Exclamation: No! Master does not wish to speak with a bald meatbag. He wishes to give me a fresh coat of paint. Don't you, Master?"

Malak furrowed his brow. "Did that tin can just call me a-?"

"Clarification: Meatbag? Affirmative. Your parts are so watery and disgusting. It's a wonder you humans don't go mad with all the constant sloshing."

Revan chuckled. "Meatbag. I like that. Alek, I think we just found your new nickname."

"Acknowledgment: I shall continue to refer to the bald one as meatbag, since it pleases you, Master."

Malak's face scrunched in deep scowl. "You'd better not if you don't want to be scrap."

"Children, children," Revan said, holding out a placating hand toward both parties. "You, power down," he said to the droid. "And you, have a seat," he said to Malak.

As the droid's eyes dimmed, his old friend strode in, nearly bumping his head on the doorway. The door closed behind him, and he sat down across from him in the guest chair.

"So," Malak started. "Princess Padawan told me to make sure you took your pain meds." He tossed a bottle at Revan, which the Jedi deftly caught.

"And what else did she say?" he asked, bristling.

"That she's leaving."

"Well, fancy that."

"Yeah. Fancy that." Malak crossed his arms, his eyes scanning Revan like a droid analyzing life signs.

"She brought it on herself," Revan said defensively. "What she did was very foolish."

"No, what she did was brave. That was the bravest thing I've ever seen."

"Brave, or crazy?"

"What's crazy is not thanking her up and down. She saved my best friend's life."

Revan held up a finger. "And there's the other problem. Attachment. She should never have allowed her feelings to get in the way, and neither should you. Both of you are crazy. The fact that Admiral Dodonna will never forgive you for ordering your ship to attack the entire Mandalorian fleet should be an indicator of your own mental status."

"It's not like I didn't have back up."

"Only because the Republic fleet was forced to engage because of your actions."

"So are you going to send me packing back to Coruscant, too?"

"I might."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Attachments are dangerous. You're only proving my point."

"I disagree, and I'm not the only Jedi who does. Yeah, we're all attached to you. You're our leader. You're my friend. I don't see a problem in saving your life."

Revan rubbed his eyes. He was getting nowhere. "At what cost? How many other lives would you trade for mine? It's not just your own at stake. How many died or were maimed because of your shenanigans?"

"What's the point of saving a bunch of nameless faces if I can't save my own friend? I'd say it's worth the risk, and so would every last grunt in this fleet."

Revan let out a heavy breath. They would never agree. They never had. Malak was reckless. He would do anything for him, even though he always tried to push him away.

The door slid open and closed again. Revan's head snapped up. Surik.

"Does anyone know how to knock?" Revan asked, already knowing the obvious answer.

"No, sir. Perhaps you'll have to show me how. But with all due respect, sir, you're being an absolute nerf herder." Surik's arms were crossed, her eyes giving him a reproving glare.

Revan raised an eyebrow. "How long have you been eavesdropping?"

Surik frowned, her shoulders slumping somewhat. "I just wanted to see the artwork when Malak was done." She stiffened once more, her hands going to her hips. "But now you're changing the subject."

Revan rubbed his hands across his face, almost using them as a shield. It wasn't often Surik got riled up. The last time had involved her first—and last—prank towards him. The memory made him shiver. Suddenly his "shield" didn't feel so safe.

"Look, Revan," she said. "You're not above your own attachments. I know you care about her, and if she feels the same way, then what's the problem?"

Revan shook his head, dragging his hands back down from his face. "That entire train of thought is inappropriate. She's my Padawan. Or, was. Regardless, I outrank her."

"Then knight her, you fool!" Malak said. "She's earned it!"

"And reward her?"

"Yeah," he replied. "She saved your life. She more than passed her trials."

"That's not the point!" Revan said. "Her attachment led to a bad judgment call. She's too valuable to risk her life like that. You know that!"

"That's funny," Surik said. "Last I checked your life was pretty critical to the war effort. Her motives don't matter. She did the right thing."

"Her motives do matter!" Revan said. "The ends don't justify the means! What if she chooses the wrong course of action next time? She needs to learn how to put sentiment aside. I don't let my feelings influence my judgment, and neither should she."

Both Jedi looked at each other, and snickered.

"Did he just admit he had feelings for her?" Malak said.

"I think he did."

Revan's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "That's not what I said!"

Surik held a hand to her mouth, barely covering her smile. "Sir," she said, her smile stretched wide beneath her sleeve and her cheeks blushing pink, "have you ever considered that maybe it's the other way around?"

Revan leaned back in his chair, ignoring the sharp pain in his ribs. His cheeks felt warm, almost feverish. Words died on his tongue, and his jaw hung limply from his face.

Surik's hand dropped from her mouth, revealing her schoolgirl smirk in full. "Oh my, hit a nerve there, didn't we?"

"Mmm hmm," his friend hummed. "I think he likes her a bit more than he should. Might be affecting his judgment."

"Yup. Hard to tell. But you know, if even you, a dim-witted man, can tell he's gushy over her..."

"Hey!"

"I'm just saying, women tend to notice these things more."

"Yeah, well, hard not to notice with him. No time for his best friend. He spends all his time with her, goes out of his way fixing a droid for her, always protects her..."

"He's a goner."

"Hopeless."

"All right!" Revan said. "You've made your point, but regardless of whether I hold any sentiment for her-"

Both Jedi before him rolled their eyes.

Revan slouched further into his seat. He had no hope of victory here, not when he was so outnumbered.

Surik shook her head, seeming to almost pity him. "You're not above attachments, Revan. You're not a droid, no matter how hard you try to be one."

"Interjection: Master displays admirable droid-like qualities! He does not share your defect in allowing his meatbag emotions to override his programming."

Revan turned to see his droid's red eyes blinking furiously. "Great," he said. "Now you're eavesdropping, too?"

"Objection: It is difficult not to, Master, when my sensors are detecting your voice exceeding 80 decibels. The noise is most disruptive to my sleep cycles."

"See?" Surik said, her arms motioning toward the droid. "Even the droid thinks you're a droid!"

"Isn't that what being the perfect Jedi is all about?" Revan said, hiding behind his favorite shield—sarcasm.

"Being a Jedi doesn't mean you have to carve out your own heart."

Revan scowled.

"She's right," Malak said. "You know, you've really changed, and for the worse."

"Objection: I like Master the way he is. Observation: I do believe he would even throw his own mother in the scrap pile if his logical programming dictated it."

"This"—Surik pointed sharply at the droid—"is why you shouldn't be striving to have 'droid-like qualities.'" Her fingers curled to emphasize quotation marks.

Revan rubbed his brow with his fingers. "Look, I've got a ton of datapads piled up here, and Force knows what's waiting for me in my messages. If you don't mind..."

"Fine," Surik said, holding her hands up. "But you owe her. We all do. You think about that. Don't punish her for feeling the same way you do."

Revan nodded as Malak rose from his seat, the chair creaking at the sudden release of weight. He watched as his friend mouthed, "Knight her," and followed Surik out the door.

"So Em?" Revan called out. "Does this mean you don't have an attachment to me anymore?"

What felt like a breeze blew through the door as it slid shut, and knocked the tea mug on the desk, spilling its contents onto his lap. Revan chuckled as he set the mug aright. Always take the last shot. That was his rule.

He pulled open his desk drawer, searching for napkins. Where was his aide-de-camp when he needed her? Fired. Right. He found a clump of used napkin wads, and began to dab his robes dry. Then he spotted a datapad in the drawer. He drew it out and flicked it on.

The screen slowly warmed with color, revealing a long record of text entries from various Jedi Masters, with dates. But it wasn't the text that drew his eye; it was the holograph staring back at him. She was younger then, still in her early teens; but she had the same stubborn set of her jaw, the same steely determination in her eyes. He knew her determination well—to exceed at everything, to win at everything, to eliminate every flaw, to discipline every muscle into subjection. That determination littered her record.

His thumb scrolled down, revealing more comments. She excelled at everything she set her heart to, but she'd never been told that. She had been relentlessly driven, criticized, and reprimanded to her face. The Masters had relentlessly driven her, criticized her, and reprimanded her to her face, all to melt away in the fire whatever dross they perceived to be within her. All had poured out praise in their notes, where she could never see, and yet with that praise they wrote their reservations. She was too angry. When they pushed her, she pushed back, almost vengeful in dispelling any criticism, nearly killing herself to overcome the slightest flaw, just to prove a point. She drove herself harder and harder, her resentment at her taskmasters seething under the surface.

She feared failure. It stalked her, drove her to the end of herself, pushed her into obsession. Revan had always wanted to unravel the source of her fear, ever since he'd first read her record, though he'd finally come to realize that she herself didn't understand it.

Regardless of the source, the Masters were wary of giving her praise when she could hardly take the slightest of criticism. But once the Jedi had divided over the war, they had pushed her even harder, worried she would become just like him—arrogant. They withheld all the more praise, not wanting to encourage her as they had him. She was a prodigy, had always been so, but she didn't even know it. The Masters had tied her into knots, and it was all his fault. Perhaps the only kind Master she'd had was Master Sunrider, but even she expressed her concerns in her notes.

And so it was from the time he'd first sneaked a read of her record, he'd been fascinated by her. He'd followed her progress obsessively, working every last contact in the Temple to discover the latest news about her. When he'd come to Coruscant to apprehend her, he'd been ready to persuade someone just like himself. After all, surely she desired to be out from under the thumb of such impossible Jedi Masters. Surely given her drive to excel she would be restless within an Order that failed to do anything about a raging war. How easy he'd imagined it would be! But he had underestimated her stubbornness. He had imagined a girl whom he could manipulate with a few clever words—the same girl from the holograph in her record. When he'd first seen her at the rally, he'd been surprised at the woman she grown into. She was a fighter, and a beautiful one at that.

And she was still fighting, even now. But finally, she'd seen what it was she was fighting for. For the first time, she'd demonstrated that she didn't care that she failed in anyone's eyes, only that she did what she knew to be right. And here he was, crushing that young seed of wisdom that had sprouted in her. Just another Jedi Master in a long line, starving her of long overdue praise.

He scrolled up and took one last look at the determined face. He didn't have the heart to add yet another criticism to her record. Revan could feel yet another chip fly off his heart, and he looked down to his desk, almost expecting to see little stone pebbles littering its surface. At last he finally realized the truth. Rather, he'd always known it, but was only now ready to admit it to himself.

He loved her.

Had always loved her, ever since he'd seen her at that rally, and heard her call him a liar live on the HoloNet in front of billions of sentients.

And that's why he had to send her away. So he could be droid-like, the perfectly programmed Jedi General, with no weaknesses to exploit. Because she was right: This ceasefire could not last long.

But that didn't mean he couldn't send her away in style.

With a complaint from his ribs, he reached for the comm unit on his desk, and tapped a few buttons. A ship comm officer answered.

"This is General Revan. Please open a long range communication channel for the following address for Nomi Sunrider. Tell her I have an emergency request for the Council. Comm me when you get a hold of her."

He released the button, not even waiting for the officer to reply.

"Revised assessment."

Revan turned his head to see two blinking red eyes.

"Your droid-like qualities are slipping, Master. Suggestion: Master should consider returning to the medical bay for further repairs."

But Revan knew nothing was going to repair the heart he was carving out of his chest.

**.:.**

Bastila stared down at her datapad, proof-reading her hundredth draft. She saw its flashing cursor demanding she type something more, anything, but she could think of nothing else. At the end, she settled for a simple thank you, saved the file, and put it in the queue for transmission. After all, no words were the right words for this sort of thing. For one last time she glanced at the holoshot on her desk. Corporal Quinn appeared so happy, so alive, standing with someone who appeared to be her brother, both of them smiling and waving at the camera.

It should have been her, not this woman. It almost appeared to be her, in fact. Bastila couldn't help but feel she was looking into a mirror of what might have happened, into an alternate reality. Only faint differences lay between their appearances—Quinn's more angular jawline, and slightly higher brow.

A few other personal effects lay on her cramped desk amid the unruly piles of datapads and reminder notes. All of them were from Quinn's tent, from when she and Bastila had traded lives. Perhaps they had carried their life swap to an extreme, but now Bastila was glad for it. It was the least she could do to see to the Corporal's personal effects, and write a letter to her family.

Her last duty in the fleet. She powered down her datapad, pocketing it. Then she packed the Corporal's personal effects into a box, and tucked it under her arm. Finally, she reached for her duffel bag, only to wince as she remembered her free arm was still in a sling. Awkwardly, she grabbed it with her alternate hand, careful not to drop the box. She tiptoed her way to the door, mindful not to trip over T3, who was powered down.

As the door slid open, a wad of paper smacked the back of her head.

She turned around, shaking her head. "T3, what did I tell you about using your paper launcher?"

The little astromech droid dwooped sadly, like a child caught sneaking cookies. The paper launcher was another means Revan used to annoy her. Bastila would have thought she'd be happy to leave T3 behind just for that, but oddly she was already missing T3's misdemeanors.

The droid beeped at her, questioning.

Yes, where was she going? "I'm going home, T3," she said. Home. Odd to call Coruscant home, given the short time she'd lived there. But yes, it was home, wasn't it? And she was suddenly reminded of how homesick she was, how much she needed the advice of her adopted mother.

T3 beeped again, even more panicked.

"No, you should stay here. You're really Revan's after all. He needs someone competent to pour his caffa."

The little droid rattled off a string of beeps, meant as insults for Revan's in-progress creation.

Bastila chuckled. "No, T3, the 'tin can' won't replace you. I promise."

She turned around, her steps leading her past Revan's closed door and away towards the elevator. Her transport would leave in an hour—enough time to mail her box and settle into her seat. She didn't need to leave so early, but she couldn't stand to be aboard another moment when she wasn't welcomed. Perhaps she would say goodbye to Alek and Surik. But no, she should be more detached. That was her problem, wasn't it? She would prove herself a true Jedi.

The corridor seemed oddly darkened, and she glanced up to see a light in the ceiling flickering.

Then it went out. She froze in the dark, the only light glowing further down the corridor at the elevator. Hesitantly, she stepped toward it.

A sack went over her head, suffocating her in pitch black. Strong arms wrapped around her, and she dropped her duffel bag and box, struggling against her attacker, kicking. A hand pressed the rough fabric of the bag against her mouth, stifling her scream. Just as she was about to call upon the Force, cold metal snapped around her neck, instantly draining her of her connection. More arms grabbed her legs. Rope wound around her limbs tightly.

The hand at her mouth dropped away.

"Who are you?" she managed, but was stifled again by a strip of cloth hugging her lips, wrapping around her head, and being swiftly tied.

She felt her body pivot over a shoulder. More arms supported her legs. Then she was moving, every stomp of her abductors' boots vibrating from the floor and up into her body as it bobbed up and down. T3 beeped furiously.

She squirmed to break free, cried into the cloth muffling her mouth, but it was no use. She hung limp at last, waiting it out, struggling to suppress the fear welling up inside her. Had the Mandalorians somehow boarded their ship? It was the only possibility she could fathom. If only she hadn't lost her lightsaber on the moon below. But surely their presence had not gone undetected? She would be rescued, of course! They'd never make it to the hangar alive. The question was, would she die along with them?

T3's angry beeps faded, and Bastila heard the elevator doors slide open and shut, felt her body accelerate downward. Down, down, down into the belly of the ship. She counted the seconds until the door slid open again. It was far too short for their destination to be the hangar. No, it couldn't be! She had to have miscounted. How else could they escape with their hostage?

Marching, marching, endless marching. She heard a heavy door slide open. Then she was on her feet, the gag and sack ripped from her head. It was still too dark to make out much of anything, but not for long. Even as her restraints fell from her limbs, two long rows of lightsabers ignited, a rainbow of colors lighting an aisle ahead of her. Jedi stood as statue sentinels, their hoods drawn and their heads bowed. The neural restraining collar fell from her neck almost of its own will, and she glanced about to catch sight of her abductors. They had vanished, melting into the dark corners of the large room, which she could only guess to be the mess hall.

"Bastila Shan!" a deep voice boomed.

Bastila looked down the long aisle of drawn lightsabers. At the end stood a tall, burly man she unmistakably knew to be Malak.

"The Order of the Revanchists greets you. You have been summoned to join us in the bonds of fraternity. If you would join our order, then come, step forward."

Bastila furrowed her brow, confused. Deciding it was best to play along, she hesitantly took her first step down the aisle.

She was but three steps into her sojourn when a burning hot blade sliced into the air. She ducked just in time, only to find yet another blade swooping down at her legs. Survival instincts and years of training took control of her body. She jumped, rolled, ducked again through the maze of lightsaber blades that toyfully harassed her.

At last, she found herself at the other end of the aisle, breathing heavily, sweat beading her brow, her wounded shoulder aching in its sling.

"Very good," Malak said, his face emotionless in the dim light.

Bastila frowned. She'd had enough of playing along. "What in Hoth's frozen tundra is going on?" she hissed, so that none but Malak could hear.

But he ignored her. "My brothers," he boomed, "our initiate wishes to be inducted into our order." He turned to her again, his eyes gleaming with delight even if the rest of the face betrayed nothing. "But before you can join us, you must first pass the Trial of Fire."

Malak stood there awkwardly a moment, as if waiting for something. "Meetra!" he hissed gruffly. "The fire!"

"Oh!" Surik drew up behind him, and with a wave of her hand, a wall of fire erupted from behind Bastila, between her and the aisle of knights. She could feel the heat lick her face and neck, and her robes billowed in the sudden blast of dry air.

"This fiery trial," Malak continued in his melodramatic voice, his arms spread wide, "will test your worthiness. Step through the flames if you dare. But be warned: Many a Jedi Master has attempted this trial, and perished."

The room fell silent, the only sound the roar of the flames and steady hum of lightsabers. Bastila peered into the fire, searched the ground for the source—a puddle of oily fluid she'd stepped over, and had barely given a thought. The fluid glowed and burned as it was consumed, but by itself it was not enough to create a wall of flame. No, Surik was using the Force to ignite the flames into a fury. She peered through the veil of fire, and between the dancing tongues caught sight of something much more fearsome.

Revan.

His mask and Jedi robes were donned. Knowing now what her abduction was all about, she honestly didn't expect him to be here. Or perhaps he was about to duel her and humiliate her in front of everyone should she dare pass through the flames?

"No! There must be another way!" Surik said from behind.

Bastila glanced over her shoulder to see Surik tugging at Malak's robe sleeve, melodramatically pleading with him.

"She's only a Padawan! You can't send her in there!"

But Malak stood still as a statue, his face scowling in mock stubbornness.

Bastila rolled her eyes. Fine. She'd let them induct her into their silly cult of Revan worshipers. Cautiously, she stepped forward. Sweat erupted from her skin as the flaming fingers reached out to almost touch her.

"Hurry up!" she heard Surik hiss.

Bastila inhaled deeply, closed her eyes, and drew upon the Force. In one stride, she stepped through, the flames wrapping around her as though an invisible shield fended them off.

She felt rather than saw the flames behind her die out instantly. Slowly she opened her eyes. Revan stood but a foot away from her. Inwardly, she cringed, not wanting to look anywhere near the slit in his mask that served as the window to his eyes.

His blue lightsaber snapped alive with a hiss. "Kneel," he said curtly.

Obediently, she dropped to one knee, relieved that he wasn't about to duel her. She kept her eyes averted, choosing to stare intently at his boots.

"With all the authority granted to me as the Commander of this fleet and of the Jedi Mercy Corp, I hereby welcome you as a full member to the Order of the Revanchists, having successfully pranked a senior member and passed the Trial of Fire."

Bastila glanced up at him, disdainfully rolling her eyes with a slight sigh. Revan certainly saw, his mask being tilted down towards her somewhat, but he kept to his stoicism.

"I also," he continued, "on behalf of the Jedi Council and with all the authority they have bestowed upon me, with the witnesses of these many Jedi..."

His blue blade descended, hovering above one shoulder. The heat from the blade warmed the air beside her ear.

"Bestow upon you the title of Jedi Knight, and the rank of Jedi General within the Jedi Mercy Corp, with all the privileges therein." His blade rose, alighting an inch from her other shoulder.

Bastila's jaw slid open, and she stared up at Revan in shock.

"Rise," he said, withdrawing his blade and extinguishing it. "Welcome to the Jedi Order."

He held out his free hand to her, and she took it with her free arm, allowing him to lift her to her feet.

Bastila continued to stare at him dumbly, even as she felt a metal cylinder pressed into her hand.

"Don't just stand there staring at me," Revan said. "Take it."

Bastila looked down at the object pressed to her palm. His lightsaber. Hesitantly, she curled her fingers around the hilt, and took it from him. She glanced back up at his mask, vainly trying to peer through it to pry an answer to a question she dared not ask.

"Try not to lose this one," Revan said gruffly.

Bastila nodded, her mouth still hanging ajar. He'd given her his lightsaber? A Jedi would only do so for the most exceptional Padawan. Why would he...?

Her brow creased. "I don't understand."

"Then I'll explain. Here are your orders." He held out a datapad. She clipped her new lightsaber to her belt, and hesitantly took the pad. "You're being assigned a command in the fleet. Eat your cake, say your goodbyes, and get off my ship."

Revan stepped away from her, and held out his hands to the assembled Jedi. "Welcome our newest member!"

But his words meant nothing. Just a show for others, she realized. The lights went on, and the myriad of lightsabers extinguished. The Jedi clapped wildly. Dozens of hands patted her back, congratulations buzzed in her ears, and both Surik and Malak gave her side hugs. Malak, of course, couldn't resist ruffling her long hair—the only hairstyle she could manage with one arm. Then she found herself guided to a table, numbly slicing a large cake with a dull knife.

Chocolate. They'd thought of everything.

Her eyes wandered everywhere, searching the crowd of Jedi for a masked face. He was standing outside of it all, aloof, his mask gazing away from her.

But not quite. She could feel his eyes wander her way. Her head snapped away, and she swallowed hard. Suddenly the cake she was chewing tasted sour, and her stomach turned. She wanted to be away from all of this. She wanted to flee home. But no, she couldn't now. She would be going elsewhere, wherever it was the fleet required. Likely a patrol of the nearby systems as the withdrawal from Dxun continued, to ensure the invisible demarcation line in space was never violated.

She let out a held breath, and put on her own mask, forcing a smile. She shook hands, bowed. Ate her blasted cake. Said her goodbyes.

And finally marched out of the mess hall to the hangar bay to get off his ship, barely holding back bitter tears.

**.:.**

"Aren't you going to eat some cake?"

Revan eyed his best friend dubiously beneath his mask, the slight tilt of his head his only answer.

"Right, right. Can't take off your mask and eat cake like a normal person."

"Yeah," Surik quipped. "All the Jedi here might mistake him for a Hoth snow beast and kill him if they saw how mutt ugly he was."

"Now, now, Em," Revan said. "You're just jealous I'm not _your_ snow beast."

She huffed, coughing on a bite of cake. "In your dreams, nerf herder." She swallowed her bite. "You know, just because you're there, doesn't automatically mean-"

"You mean I'm losing my touch?" Revan said.

"I'm saying you never had it."

Revan could hear his two friends chewing more cake, scraping their paper plates for chocolate frosting with their plastic forks.

"So she's leaving," Malak said.

Revan held his ground, even though his heart was sinking into his stomach at the mere mention of _her_.

"Yup," Surik said. "There she goes right now."

"Aren't you going to go after her?" Malak asked.

"Go kiss her, you fool!"

Revan rolled his eyes beneath his mask.

"Well if _you're_ not going to kiss her," Malak said, a rakish grin stretching across his face, "then I _will_."

Revan's arm intercepted Malak's massive chest as he shoved his friend aside, and the Jedi broke into a run. He could hear his friend's deep laughter, and could feel Surik's happy smile beaming into his backside as he half limped, half ran down the corridor.

**.:.**

Bastila trudged into the hangar, her jaw set, her mind focused on the orders she'd read on the datapad while she walked. It was strangely empty, various droids being among the few occupants, the _Ravager_ being in need of some repairs. A shuttle lay in the center, ready to transport her to a ship. Not _her_ ship, but she'd be the Jedi Mercy Corp advisory for the capital ship leading the patrol task force. The gift that had brought her here, into the midst of this war, would be ready to deploy to wherever the front lines formed, should the worst happen.

Ironic that that same gift was now tearing her away.

As the shuttle ramp lowered for her, she swallowed a lump in her throat. It was happening all over again, she realized. Little had she known when she'd first boarded the _Ravager_ that she would find a family in the rogue Jedi that had coached her and even befriended her. Only now that she was being torn away from her family, yet again, did she come to appreciate them.

But that was her problem, wasn't it? She'd attached herself once more, like a fool, not having learned her lesson with her blood relatives, nor with Master Sunrider. The loss stabbed her with each beat of her heart. Revan was right; she'd failed him in more ways than he even knew.

Bastila made to step onto the ramp, but a mournful beep followed her. She turned to face the T3-M4 unit to see its upper chassis twisting back and forth, shaking its "head".

"Well, if he insists that you belong to me, I suppose I don't mind if you come along."

The little droid let out a happy beep.

"Just promise to stop launching paper wads at me."

Its entire chassis wobbled with programmed joy, and then rolled up the ramp ahead of her, stopping at the doorway to the shuttle. Bastila followed, wiping her drippy nose with her sleeve, straining to hold the water in her eyes and not let it stream down her cheeks.

"Knight Shan!"

She knew that voice. Wondered what insult he wished to pass to her next. She swallowed her choked breath, and turned around.

Revan stood but a few feet from the base of the ramp, his breathing winded through his mask. "You forgot your bag." He held out her duffel bag to her.

Bastila walked back down the ramp, and gruffly snatched the bag from his hand. But even as she made to turn back around, willing herself to practically punish the man with an air of detachment, he removed his mask, dropping it to the ground with a clang.

"I'll have your box mailed for you," he said.

She nodded, averting her gaze, and turned away.

"Knight Shan."

She froze, listening.

"I don't...I don't want you to leave this way."

Bastila's body rushed with adrenaline, screaming at her to move up the ramp, but her mind was riveted to Revan's words.

"There are some things that should never be left unsaid in life. I..."

"What do you want?" Bastila bit off sharply, still keeping her back to him.

"What I'm trying to say is..."

She heard him inhale sharply. Was he actually nervous?

"Perhaps, someday, when this war is truly over..."

Yes, he _was_ nervous. Her stomach knotted, and confusion knit her brow. This wasn't like him. She risked a peek over her shoulder, though she still couldn't see him. But the gesture seemed to encourage him.

"I love you."

The blood drained from her face, and her feet felt as though they were glued to the ramp. But her shock was quickly replaced with a cold rage. It started in her chest as a pressure. It built up and up, and then erupted through her neck, straight to her cheeks, coloring her paled cheeks. Her eyes narrowed, but it was her tongue that was last affected.

Her body whipped around, her good arm following in pursuit. "Oh, you..._hypocrite_!"

But before her hand could make contact with his cheek, his own hand snatched her wrist, and pulled her into him.

Lips pressed against hers, and a pair of arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly against his warm robes. T3 beeped excitedly behind her, but she barely heard the little droid. All she could hear was her own hammering heartbeat exploding in her chest. Cold logic warned her to push him away, that he could only hurt her worse. She stiffened, but only momentarily. Her heart simply would not obey her mind. She slowly let loose her held breath, her muscles relaxing with her lungs. His grip on her arm loosened in response, and she made to wrap it around his neck-

"Statement: I have brought you your caffa, Master, as you ordered."

The two Jedi pulled apart. Where before they had been the only two people in the galaxy, now they were sheepishly aware of their lack of privacy. Bastila averted her eyes, sharing an unspoken understanding with Revan. They were Jedi, and discretion was required.

"Thank you," Revan said, his voice strained. "Thank you very much."

Bastila caught sight of his frustrated frown from the corner of her eye, his body leaning almost threateningly toward the rusty red droid.

"Query: Is there some other menial task with which my superior programming can assist you, Master?"

"No, thank you," Revan growled, ripping the caffa mug from the droid's metalic fingers. The mug was overflowing with sugar. If there was caffa inside, then it was flavoring the sugar, rather than the other way around.

"Suggestion: Since you have not yet chosen a designation for me, might I suggest CP-47?"

"Which would be?"

"Sarcastic answer: Caffa-Pourer Forty-Seven."

"And the forty-seven?"

"The number of your failed attempts at building droids, Master. That is, unless you plan to perfect me by-"

"That will be the number of parts I scrap you into if you don't go back to my quarters and shut down. _Now_."

"Acknowledgment. Snide remark: I will gladly leave you alone with your aide-de-camp to press your slimy, mucous-covered lips together, Master."

Bastila could feel her cheeks flush as the droid stomped away. She glanced nervously at Revan. Their eyes met for but a moment before he spoke.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he said curtly. "Get off my ship!"

With a deep breath, she shoved all emotion into her chest, turned around, grabbed her dropped duffel bag, and marched back up the ramp as though nothing had happened. The ramp closed behind her, and she made her way into the passenger compartment, taking a seat, feeling numb. Minutes later, she felt the ship shudder, and take off, accelerating out the hangar bay. Gradually, the numbness faded, and in its stead grew a heavy pain in her chest. She looked down to see her hands trembling. Her fingers felt her cheeks, felt the water spilling down the sides. She realized that in one moment, she'd gained everything, and lost everything, all at the same time.

With an angry wipe of her robe sleeve against her eyes, she vowed she'd never feel such loss again.

**.:.**

Aboard his ship, Cassus Fett stared at the flashing holocom unit, debating whether to activate it and answer the call. He'd gone through great lengths to reach this one man—if a man you could call it. If he answered this long-awaited call now, there would be no turning back. It would be the highest betrayal of Mandalore imaginable. And yet, it was Mandalore who had betrayed his own people, hadn't he? If Cassus did not salvage the situation now, they would all be butchered later. But he knew his motives weren't pure. He wanted what was rightfully his. Surely his loyalty to the overlords would earn him the power he craved? And didn't he deserve it, after all he'd done in his service to them?

A memory of swinging a wood sword in tall grass, his father snatching him up in a bear hug, flashed into his mind. Angrily, he shoved that memory back down, locking it in the prison in which it belonged. That man was dead. Had died long ago when he'd taken the golden helm of his people. Cassus would only be finishing off the husk of a man that remained.

He made his decision, and knelt before the communication unit, activating it.

A silhouette shimmered to life. Hooded. Cloaked. Mysterious. But despite the blue haze that all holographic units projected, draining their subjects of their true color, he knew well what sick color the eyes were.

And even from this distance, so many parsecs away, Cassus Fett could feel the specter's presence, like a hand searching, grasping, finding, and squeezing the life from his chest. He swallowed the dryness from his throat, and spoke.

"What is thy bidding, my Master?"

**.:.**

A/N: How is it that chapters I intend to be short end up spiraling out of control? But I hope you had fun reading it nonetheless! Do drop me a review!


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: I apologize for the very long wait. Thank you, everyone, for being so patient. I've been a bit busy with real life. I also took a bit of a break from writing just because my brain was feeling fried (again from real life). But I'm back! I hope this chapter was worth the wait. I'll try to get back onto a more frequent update schedule. Enjoy, and thanks in advance for the 300+ reviews. It's such an encouraging milestone to reach.

**CHAPTER 21**

_Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit._

Bastila nervously chewed on a fingernail as she stared out the viewport. Outside, a host of Mandalorian ships floated in space around the asteroid mining facility, like Firaxin sharks circling a wounded fish.

Only, the wounded fish was about to become her own ship, if things went downhill any further.

"Admiral, we've got a transmission!"

Bastila whipped her head towards the comm officer. "Is it the ambassador?"

Admiral Dodonna shot her a sharp glance at her minor usurpation. The woman had transferred at about the same time as Bastila, her loose grip over the Ravager's fleet—which was really Revan's—relinquished shortly after her promotion to Fleet Admiral. Bastila speculated that her transfer was more than voluntary. The woman had a difficult time hiding her disdain for Revan's swagger ever since Kashyyyk. Malak's latest daredevil antics at Dxun had whittled down any remaining respect she held for either Jedi. Now, she had oversight over multiple fleets, and over the most sensitive territories along the invisible demarcation line. The only thing she lacked was proper Jedi Mercy Corp representation, but that's where Bastila entered.

And was resented.

"Sorry," Bastila muttered.

The Admiral ignored her. "Patch it through."

A large screen lit up, revealing an armored monstrosity. Whether there was a man beneath the demonic helm and the sooty armor was the question billions of children in the Republic asked their parents every night during story time. The warrior clutched a large rag doll in his gauntleted claws, holding a vibroblade to its throat.

The rag doll sobbed, its colorful head tails convulsing in terror.

"Ambassador Disra!" Bastila gasped under her breath, pity swelling in her chest.

"This," the helmed demon said, "is what you send me? This, this,...spineless spawn of a Hutt?"

Admiral Dodonna steeled her voice. "General Ordo, this is an act of war. You have thirty seconds to release Ambassador Disra, or I will open fire on your ship."

"No," the man hissed. "It is this ambassador who commits an act of war. I will not tolerate his insult to my honor." The man's vibroblade tightened against the Tortugran ambassador's skin, drawing a thin line of blood.

"Weps, power the proton torpedoes."

"Aye, aye."

"Then your ambassador is dead, and you will follow," Canderous Ordo proclaimed, his spine straightening further, as if relishing the thought of spilling blood.

"Fire on my mark."

Ordo's grip on the vibroblade hilt tightened, readying to slit his victim's throat.

"Wait!" Bastila shouted, stepping between Admiral Dodonna and the screen, and revealing her presence to the comm camera for the first time.

All parties froze, but only for a moment. Admiral Dodonna defrosted first.

"Disregard that order," she said.

"Wait, please!" Bastila faced Dodonna, her eyes pleading. "Allow me to negotiate. You have nothing to lose."

The Admiral's eyes narrowed. At last, she gave a quick nod.

Bastila turned to the screen. "General Ordo, I'm sure you remember me." Her heart hammered in her chest, and it was all she could do to keep her voice from shaking.

The armored nightmare made no sign of acknowledgment.

Bastila held out her hands. "Please, allow me the chance to hear you out. I assure you whatever insult we have paid to your honor is entirely unintentional. I want the chance to right a wrong."

The Mandalorian General slowly nodded, his grip on the vibroblade loosening ever so slightly.

"This spawn of a Hutt," he spat, "thought he could pay Mandalore for the rights to the asteroid mine. You cannot buy our honor, Jedi."

"All right, I understand. I assure you, I had no idea the ambassador would propose such an offer. Please, let us negotiate."

"With this slug? I should slit his throat and flush his sorry corpse out the airlock."

"Then release him, and negotiate with me."

"General Shan," Admiral Dodonna said. "You don't represent the Republic."

"But I can bring back to Coruscant whatever tentative agreement we decide upon. Please, General, isn't a battle won without bloodshed the highest honor?"

The warrior on the screen snorted. "You've read our poetry." He paused, his helm tilting to the side slightly. "But it is only poetry. Reality is that we have little to negotiate. No Mandalorian will sell his honor. This asteroid mine was ours long before the war began. Just because it drifts across an invisible demarcation line into Republic space does not make it any less ours."

"I apologize for the confusion, but both Czerka and the Republic Exploration Commission have spent millions establishing their mining facility. All they ask is to somehow be allowed to continue." She swallowed hard. "And for the miners to be released."

"Do you really think that just because our mine seems abandoned that you have the right to claim what is ours? If it is abandoned, it is because we went to wage war."

Bastila shook her head. "No, not at all. Our intent in these negotiations was to maintain the ceasefire and recompense you fairly for our unintentional injury against you."

"There is no recompense you can give for what is ours. Withdraw from our mine, and we will release your miners. That is the only deal you will get."

Out of the corner of her eye, Bastila caught a stern glare from Dodonna. The Republic did not wish to back down on this. Too many credits had been invested in this venture, and too many Senators' pockets had been lined. The lawyers had already justified Czerka's actions, arguing that the asteroid was now technically in Republic territory. They had no problem with happily toasting to their brilliant legal minds while a ceasefire fell apart.

An idea formed in her mind, coalescing from a cloudy mist into a solid shape. "Then let us settle this honorably."

"Withdraw."

"I have a better proposal."

"And what would that be?"

"A duel."

The Mandalorian General froze, before suddenly dropping the shaking ambassador to the ground.

"Do you challenge me, Jedi?"

Bastila nodded hurriedly. "If I win, the mine is ours. If you win, it is yours. We only ask that the miners be released into our custody. In recompense, the new Czerka mining facility will be yours."

Dodonna yanked Bastila's shoulder. "You don't have the authority to propose any of this!"

"Would you rather the war resume?" Bastila snapped. She turned back to the screen. "Ambassador, I know you're the only one here who has been granted the full authority of the Senate. Do you agree to this proposal?"

The Tortugra whimpered what sounded to be an affirmation.

"Then I challenge you for the rights to the asteroid mine, Canderous Ordo."

The Mandalorian paused for a moment. "To the death?"

The entire bridge ceased inhaling air, Bastila included.

"It is our way," Ordo said.

And Bastila knew it was the only way. Resigned, she nodded. "To the death."

Even as the entire bridge murmured in worry, Canderous Ordo chuckled merrily through his helm. "You've got fire, Jedi. Very well." He dropped the ambassador, a hard thump and a whimper resounding over the connection. "Come aboard my ship, alone, and I will release this filth in exchange."

Bastila raised an eyebrow. "Alone? I want a witness to my victory."

"Don't you mean _my_ victory?" he laughed. "But no, I will not risk your troops opening fire aboard my ship. Come alone, or no deal."

"No!" Dodonna whispered. "Don't do this!" Bastila glanced at her to see the first traces of worry in her eyes.

But Bastila's mind was set. It was the only way to avoid bloodshed. "Agreed," she said with a brisk nod.

Dodonna interjected, obviously not ready to give up on Bastila so quickly. "What guarantee do we have that you won't take General Shan hostage, or simply kill her?"

"My word, and my honor. If that is not enough for you, then we might as well join in battle now and be done with it. But I would have already fired at your fleet if it was a battle I wanted."

"Nevertheless, we would prefer a neutral location," Dodonna said.

"The nearest neutral system is days out, and my patience with your politicians runs thin. We settle this today. Come alone. You have twenty minutes."

The screen went black.

**.:.**

"What were you thinking?"

Bastila kept her eyes focused down the corridor as she marched, enduring Admiral Dodonna's reprimand. "That I should never have allowed the ambassador to go alone. He is in my charge. I have to get him back."

"What he did was his own choice. You did your duty. What you're doing now is going to get you killed."

"Don't be such a pessimist," Bastila said. "I might win."

"That still doesn't mean you'll come back alive, or won't yourself become a hostage. These Mandalorians are brutes. You're far too valuable an asset to risk your life so foolishly. I won't be held responsible for your demise."

"Then don't be."

A shrill beep whistled beside Bastila. She glanced down to see that T3 had followed her all the way from the bridge.

"Don't you start, too."

The droid shook its head as it rolled alongside her. They reached the hangar, personnel rushing her to the awaiting shuttle. The Jedi marched up the boarding ramp, adjusting her wrist guards yet again—the little bit of armor she chose to wear.

"General Shan," Dodonna called out.

Bastila paused, and turned to face her.

"Be careful."

"Don't worry. I promise not to say the wrong thing or give away entire planets to them."

The Admiral shook her head. "That's not what I...Just don't trust any of them. They are masters of deception. And I'm not speaking about their words. The way they fight..."

Bastila pursed her lips, and nodded.

"By the stars, you're as reckless as Revan."

The young woman snickered under her breath.

"I'd even say you're getting as crazy as Malak."

Bastila smiled. "Must be a highly contagious disease, then."

"I should quarantine you, Master Jedi. May the Force be with you."

"Thank you."

The admiral turned away, marching back to the hangar entrance. T3 began to roll up the ramp.

"No, T3. He said to come alone."

The little droid shook his head almost violently.

"Revan programmed you to protect me?"

The dance the droid made affirmed her question.

"Well, you can't protect me from this, I'm afraid. Wait for me to come back, all right?"

The droid let out a sad dwoop.

Bastila made to turn away, but stopped. "T3, if I don't come back...I never did tell him..." She drew in a deep breath, and let it out. "Never mind. I'm sure he knows."

With that, she vanished into the shadows of the shuttle's belly, and found the pilot's seat. With a few flicks of her wrist, the engines rumbled to life, and the craft lifted, launching out of the hangar.

Bastila swallowed her stomach contents. What had she been thinking? Yes, it was her assignment to escort the ambassador and ensure his safety, but Admiral Dodonna was right—she wasn't responsible if he was an idiot.

How had such a simple assignment gone so terribly wrong?

And she'd never told him. In four months, nothing. Not a word from him. Here and there a task order for a joint fleet exercise, but she was only one cog in the machine. Nothing was ever directed at her. Not from him. Her twentieth birthday had come and gone, and he'd not so much as sent her a note, nor had she ever dared contact him.

And she'd never told him.

No, no, she couldn't afford to think like that. Not ever. Such thoughts would cloud her judgment. She had to keep her head clear for the upcoming fight.

Fortunately, she didn't have much longer to muse over her regrets in life. The Mandalorian battleship loomed closer, obscuring the entire viewport, and swallowing her tiny shuttle whole. She let the autopilot take over, and the craft decelerated, touching down smoothly. Hurriedly, she unbuckled her safety belt and made her way to the back of the craft. Her hand hovered over the controls for the ramp. She paused, inhaling deeply and trying desperately to steady her shaking hand.

_Just get it over with._

She punched the controls, and and stepped out as soon as the ramp lowered.

Canderous Ordo waited at the bottom, along with a contingent of warriors. Ambassador Disra stood trembling beside them.

"Welcome," Ordo said, spreading his hands widely, almost magnanimously.

"He is free to go?" Bastila asked, nodding toward the ambassador.

"Of course, of course." The Mandalorians nudged the poor man forward. He shakily walked up the ramp, even as Bastila descended. In a brief moment, their eyes made contact. He mouthed his thanks silently.

Bastila took her last step off the ramp, even as its hydrolics swooshed to close it behind her.

"Come, Master Jedi," Ordo said, and Bastila could almost feel his grin beneath his dark helm. "I have prepared a room for our fight."

She wordlessly followed him. Her eyes darted about the hangar as she walked. It was so very different from Republic vessels. Where the Republic favored a bright interior with creamy walls, the Mandalorians spent no effort to hide their Spartan lifestyle. Cold duristeel entombed these warriors in space even in life. Everything in her surroundings was harsh, but efficient. She had no doubt the duel would be the same.

As she stepped through the hangar bay doors, she heard her shuttle's engines rumble as the craft lifted, its autopilot ushering the ambassador to safety even as it stranded her in what might very well be her own tomb.

**.:.**

Bastila held her saber staff with a death grip. It felt uncomfortable in her hand. She still hadn't quite smoothed out the grip on her new lightsaber, and now of all times she was missing her old one.

The room was likely the most decorated place on the ship, it being a shrine of the Mandalorians' warrior ways. The largest weapon rack of vibroblades she had ever seen lined one side. The floors were of woven grass mats, surrounding a circular pool of sand—the center of the dueling circle. Ancient shields, weapons, and banners graced the walls amid tapestries depicting epic victories from an era long past. But what caught her eye were the disturbing images of their ancient gods depicted on one of the tapestries. Perhaps the creatures were merely meant to be covered in blood, but it was the yellow eyes that arrested Bastila's breathing.

A great crowd of Mandalorians gathered around her and their General. On the other side of the room, Canderous Ordo was strangely stripping himself of his heavy armor, exchanging it for lighter leathers and wrist guards, and not because he wanted a fair fight. No, there were no rules in a Mandalorian challenge, except to win at all costs. Fights weren't fair, just as warfare wasn't. It was a test of strength and wits to best one's opponent by whatever means necessary.

In other words, Canderous could very well throw a thermal detonator at her and still claim a valid victory in his eyes. At least she could take comfort in the high probability that the Mandalorian general would not want to risk a hull breach.

But why would he remove his armor? What advantage did that give him? Or was he purposely giving her the advantage? No, it didn't make any sense.

Unless beneath that armor was an old man, too slow to move beneath the clunky mass of metal, especially against a young Jedi.

Her eyes widened with sudden understanding as she took the grizzled warrior in. Old scars lined his face. His short-cropped hair was graying. He was likely old enough to be her father. Years of experience were knit into his muscles, but those same years must surely have worn away his bones. He would try to be as light on his feet as she was, at the expense of protection. He likely would also have a few toys up his sleeves, behind his back under his clothes, or clipped to his belt. Yes, even as she watched, he was discreetly tucking something under his leather shirt.

But she, too, had something up her sleeve—or rather, in her boot. The cold cylinder restricted her movement, but she knew it was a necessity.

Her anxiety mounted as she watched her opponent clasp an oversized device on his wrist. Was it a flamethrower, or a harpoon, perhaps? Absentmindedly, she fidgeted inside her robe pocket, pausing when she found something soft. Another loose end she'd left with Revan. She gave the soft object a gentle squeeze, and at last removed her hand. Her adrenaline already racing, she shed her robe and folded it, laying it down on the grass mat.

"Are you ready?" Bastila asked, her anxiety wearing on her already thin patience. Every pulse of her heart wanted this ordeal to be over.

Canderous turned to her with a smirk. "So eager to die, Jedi?"

"Maybe I have an appointment to keep."

"Unless it's with Death, I'd cancel it if I were you." He strode forward into the dueling circle, unsheathing a well polished vibroblade. He had not bothered with the weapons rack. No, he was bringing a tried and true weapon into battle, one that had seen years of battle. Bastila wondered how many Jedi this one man had slain in his time with that very blade, and if her blood would be added to its tally.

Bastila stepped into the soft sand, drawing her lightsaber. It hissed angrily as she lit both ends, more than making up for her silence to his barb. Ordo bowed with his fist clenched to his heart, and Bastila hesitantly mimicked him. Wordlessly, the two opponents began to circle one another.

Canderous was the first to strike. The blow nearly toppled her as she blocked it, the old man's strength making her eyes widen in surprise. Their blades locked for a brief moment, and Bastila could see the feral glint in Canderous' eyes. He relished this fight.

Their blades separated as Canderous backed away. The two duelists circled each other warily. Bastila knew he had just gaged her strength with his first move. She could feel fear's icy talons grope her heart and clench her throat.

She could almost hear his voice. _Don't ever show them fear. They'll feed off it. They'll watch your eyes, stare you down. You must do likewise._

Steeling herself, she shifted her eyes from his blade to his blood-thirsty gaze. From her peripheral vision, she could see his blade shift ever so slightly, and she was tempted to look.

_Don't let your eyes drift away, and don't look where you'll attack, or you'll give away your next move. Make your mind an impenetrable fortress. Don't ever let them in. Use your peripheral vision._

Canderous struck again, but Bastila's gaze never shifted. Her blade parried his blows. He drove her back, clearly wanting to finish the fight quickly.

She forced pushed him away.

A mistake.

A cable snapped out of the device on his wrist, snagged her arm, and pulled her into him even as he fell backwards—straight into his blade.

She narrowly avoided her own impalement, with a swift parry and a pivot of her foot. A leg swept through hers, and she fell into the grainy sand, tangled in the cable. But she wasn't about to go alone. With a Force pull, she dragged him down with her. They rolled.

Dizzily, she scrambled to her feet, and loosed her arm from the cable's grip, only to see Canderous fling his fist toward her face, and then release a powder from his fingers. No, it was sand. It stung her eyes. Tears blurred her vision. Time slowed.

_But don't ever __solely __rely on your vision. They will go for the eyes first. Every Padawan relies too much on their eyes, and they know it. Always see with the Force. Use your instincts. Now stop griping and put the blindfold on._

She ignored the burning sensation in her eyes, and kept her focus on where she'd last sensed Canderous, felt the blade slice through the air. She parried, and delivered a series of blows in return, as though she'd never lost her vision. Canderous' mild surprise radiated from his faltering blocks and parries.

A boot met her stomach, and she staggered back into the sand, rolling away from the blade that was descending onto her neck, into Ordo's legs. He tripped over her, and she wasted no time in gaining her feet. Her opponent did likewise, and they circled each other once more.

Canderous' feet shuffled in the sand. He was already tiring. But something wasn't right. Bastila felt light-headed, as though all the blood was draining out of her body. She blinked away the sand in her eyes, studying Canderous intently as her blurry vision began to focus. The grin he wore shook her.

_His eyes. Follow his eyes._

They were glancing at her leg, and her arm.

Cautiously, never keeping her focus away from his position, she glanced at her leg. Blood. When had he cut her? She eyed her arm, and saw the same. He was targeting her major veins. Even though he'd missed them, he'd drawn a substantial amount of blood. She met his feral gaze, and realized he would continue to cut her until she went into shock, if she wasn't near it already. The old general had leveled the playing field against his young opponent.

She didn't have much time.

Her own adrenaline was the only thing keeping her standing and from feeling the pain of her wounds. She needed to finish this quickly if she was to win. Her jaw tightened.

A voice she had long missed returned to her. _Jedi are not the only ones vulnerable to muddling the senses. Fight against them with their own weapons. Confuse them._

With a mere thought, wind rushed from behind Canderous, like the sound of a blade slicing the air. His head twitched ever so slightly, his ears confused, distracted. It was enough. She took her opening, and charged him, swinging her double blades. His own blade lifted to block her, but he was too slow. Canderous winced with a pained grunt, the scent of burnt flesh encroaching upon Bastila's nostrils.

Their blades collided. Only, now she had no blade. Neither did he. There was no time to scramble for her lightsaber. She caught the glint of cold steel as he pulled the long dagger from his back, and stepped in close to her body. Instinct drove her into him, his arm stretching past her as she elbowed him in the ribs, and reached for her boot.

Time stilled. Their eyes met, both breathing hard. Bastila could feel the dagger at her throat, so close to breaking her delicate skin. Sweat beaded on Canderous' neck, Revan's blue lightsaber hovering dangerously close, singing the man's stubble.

They stood like that for several moments, sizing up the situation, recovering their breaths in steady gasps. The soldiers around them had ceased to breath.

Canderous spoke first. "Interesting."

Bastila gasped for another breath. "Now what happens?" she rasped. "We both die and nobody gets what they want?"

A wicked grin played along the man's face. "Fine with me, Jedi. We'll still get what we want, even if we have to take it by force."

"There's still hope for an agreement," Bastila said, her voice and breathing more steady.

"Oh? Two out of three?"

She ignored his jest. "Why don't we both lower our blades, and discuss terms? I will bring our proposal to Ambassador Disra."

The old warrior seemed to ponder this idea for a moment. At last, he nodded, careful not to move his neck any closer to her blade.

The two opponents slowly lowered their weapons, neither willing to break eye contact. Cautiously, ready for any trickery, Bastila extinguished her lightsaber. To her relief, Ordo discarded his blade in the sand.

"Leave the room, all of you!" Canderous bellowed.

His men wasted no time in leaving. The stomp of their boots faded into the corridor outside.

"Come, sit," the Mandalorian general said, sitting on his knees and patting the sand before him.

Bastila sat across from him, mimicking his posture in case it was some sort of sacred Mandalorian tradition. He folded his hands, and she did likewise.

"So we have a draw," he said. "I'm impressed. You're not the spoiled Jedi Princess I thought you were."

Bastila felt her cheeks flush with heat. "Spoiled?"

"You have been protected from the horrors of war. I hope you didn't chip a nail."

"My protection is a necessity." It was all she could do to keep her voice steady. Jedi Princess, indeed!

"And yet here you are."

"Also a necessity."

"So it would seem. Now, what is your proposal?"

Bastila gathered herself. "The way I see it, a draw in a duel means a draw for the mine."

Canderous nodded. "A sound conclusion."

"If the Republic Navy were to withdraw, would you consider releasing the miners now and withdraw as well?"

The Mandalorian rubbed his stubbled chin with a weathered hand. "No one gets the mine?"

"For now. We can table it for future discussions as part of drafting the treaty." Pausing, she noted the slightest frown crease his face. "Unless I am mistaken, you don't require immediate use of the mine."

"No," he admitted. "But I do not trust your politicians to negotiate fairly." He rubbed his chin with one last swipe, and nodded. "I will agree to these terms."

Bastila released her held breath.

"If..."

She raised an eyebrow.

"If you are involved in these negotiations. We would all prefer to work with the Jedi Revanchists over politicians."

Bastila nodded. "I will relay these terms, then, though I cannot choose my assignments."

"As long as you are willing, Mandalore will ensure this request for your involvement is relayed to your politicians."

"Then I'm sure they will comply."

"Excellent!" he said, rising to his feet. "Now come. I will send for a shuttle to pick you up."

He held out his hand, which Bastila took, and lifted her up.

They had taken only two paces across the sand when Bastila spoke. "May I ask you one thing?"

"It depends," Canderous replied, halting.

"That tapestry on the wall," Bastila said, pointing. "What is the story behind it?"

Canderous gave her the first genuine smile she had seen from him, obviously pleased that she showed some interest in his culture. "Interesting you should choose this tapestry to inquire of, Jedi." He walked toward the wall, beckoning her to follow him.

"Our art tells of our history, as I'm sure you've already guessed," he said. "Many of our ships and our homes have rooms such as these to remind us of things past. They are attempts at capturing our oral traditions. Some of the stories, of course, are mere legend or mythology. Others come closer to the truth of things."

"And which is this one?" Bastila asked.

"I will tell you the story, and you can decide for yourself, Jedi." He gestured at the tapestry. "Millennia ago, our people were scattered, mere tribes littered across several systems. We worshipped many different gods, and some of our clans waged war against each other." His hand pointed to the red creatures. "Then one day, evil gods came, conquering us. Some would say it was they who first united the clans. Rather, they were the cause. We served them many years. We prayed to our idols, but they did not hear us. Eventually, we forsook our former gods, and turned to our own strength. A leader arose among us, and united the clans. Together, we fought against the evil gods."

"And you won?" Bastila asked.

"No. We lost."

"Then how...?"

"Let me finish, Jedi. We lost our chance at freedom, but we gained something we did not have before—honor. Amused, the evil gods allowed our leader to live, and trained our united armies in their warrior ways, feeding us as fodder to their enemies as punishment for our rebellion. But our leader, the first Mandalore, vowed to always fight with honor, even though he fought on behalf of his overlords. In time, the great enemy of our overlords, the Jedi, overpowered their empire, and it was no more. We were at last free men, and thenceforth ceased to worship these tyrannical false gods."

An old history lesson burst from an ember into a flame as Bastila studied the tapestry. "The Great Hyperspace War," she gasped, her eyes widening.

Canderous shrugged. "Perhaps. It is our mythology, that is all. The tale also has many forms. In some versions, for example, the evil gods were utterly destroyed by the Jedi. In others, the evil gods fled, vowing to return and exact their vengeance."

Bastila's breathing stopped. She looked at him. "And which version do you believe?"

He shrugged again. "It is only a story. Still, many Mandalorians look for the return of the overlords. During the last war, years ago, I remember our then Mandalore hailing the fallen Jedi Exar Kun as their herald."

"But he wasn't."

"No."

"But why would your people want the overlords to return if they enslaved you?"

Canderous shrugged. "Confusing, isn't it? We both love and hate them. They taught us our warrior ways, and in a sense, we learned honor by fighting against them, and failing. Perhaps we want the opportunity to rebel again." He paused, brushing his fingers against the tapestry. "Or perhaps," he muttered, "we fear them more than we cherish our honor." He shook his head. "Nevertheless, the ending is not without hope. The legend foretells of a great warrior who will rise against them should they return."

"And does he win?"

"That depends what version of the story you believe," he said, and turned away.

His words sent a shiver through her heart.

**.:.**

Bastila stared at the comm device, paralyzed. At last aboard her ship, she had treaty terms to personally deliver. It was the perfect excuse to contact him. Of course she could contact virtually anyone in the Defense Ministry, but she wanted it to be him. Because she had left something unsaid.

She entered the channel number hastily, before she could change her mind. He probably wouldn't answer anyway. She watched the progress bar as it connected, heard the click of someone answering. Her throat tightened.

She panicked.

Her finger crushed the disconnect button before the voice on the other end could speak. Frustrated, she buried her face in a hands but a moment, before composing herself.

She was a Jedi, and some things were best left unsaid.

**.:.**

"Davik, I thought I told you not to contact me so directly."

Senator Merias patted her hair, not enjoying the interruption on her holocomm.

Davik Kang's image stilled, made her wait for a response, a contest of who was in control. "I trust your office comm unit is secure?"

"Of course it is. But really, I expect more tactfulness next time. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm quite busy at the moment."

"This is worth your time."

He didn't give her time to respond, once again asserting his control. She hated anyone who wrestled for dominance. His image disappeared, and she tapped her well-manicured nails on her desk as she waited. At last, an image reappeared, but it was not that of Davik Kang. A face hidden behind a helm peered at her, the body shielded behind armor—Mandalorian armor.

"What is the meaning of this?" Merias hissed.

"Greetings, Senator," the man's voice spoke. "Please, do not be alarmed. I wish to negotiate terms of peace."

Merias composed herself, folding her hands. "By all means, your offer is welcomed. However, our ambassadors are better equipped to negotiate the treaty's terms with you."

"I have a different sort of treaty in mind. One between you and I."

She leaned back in her cushioned chair. "I am afraid I am not authorized to make any agreements."

"It is not your authorization I require. It is your position. And I promise you that your position will be elevated in return for your services."

"I am truly sorry, but I'm afraid this must be the end of our conversation." Merias lifted a hand to disconnect.

But the image never flinched, and the voice never wavered, almost lazily delivering its message. "The overlords wish to collect on your debt to them."

Merias' hand froze over the disconnect button.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: I apologize yet again for the very long wait. I had wanted to have more scenes in this chapter, but given the word count is more than large enough, I can't justify making you all wait any longer. As such, I'll be pushing those other scenes off to the next chapter. Enjoy!

**CHAPTER 22**

_Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit._

Somewhere deep in her subconscious, she knew she was dreaming. The thought even burrowed to the surface of her mind for a moment, before being buried again in the dream's sheer realism. She could hear her boots clank against the ship deck, could smell the stale, recycled air, could see the soft glow of the window up ahead, the dim pinpricks of stars barely lighting her way in the dark passage.

She hastened down the corridor, wishing she could stifle the clank of her boots. He would hear her. He would find out what she'd done, and he would never forgive her for it. She halted just short of the window, and peered around the corner of the passage, keeping her back to the cold duristeel wall.

Boots were still clanking against the deck, but they weren't her own. She froze, holding her breath. Closer and closer the heavy boots came—from behind, or so she guessed. Her lungs burned, and her side ached. If she was to escape this death trap of a ship, it was now or never. She flew like a startled mynock, rounding the corner. Her pulse hammered in her ears, keeping time with the pounding of her boots.

But he wasn't behind anymore. He was ahead. A red lightsaber flared before her, her enemy silhouetted in its ghastly glow. She staggered back, turned to flee back the way she'd come, but felt invisible claws dragging her back. In a blink, she was in his grasp, his gloved hand raised, fingers pinched, strangling her with those invisible claws. Pinpricks of light stung her eyes, before everything went pitch black. Then she was face down on the deck, gasping for air as she came to.

Cautiously, she raised her head. He was gone. She dragged herself to her feet, her gaze surveilling her surroundings. The corridor had vanished, replaced with a wide chamber. How long had she been out? An energy shield flickered ahead of her. She peered past it, into the array of stars floating in the vacuum of space.

_Tap, tap, tap._

The clank of metal.

She turned, and saw the sealed hatch and the silhouette behind the hatch window, tapping his gloved finger against the glass. Then she understood. Desperation drove her toward the hatch, even as fear tugged at her to stay away. Her palms slammed into the hatch door, pounding on it, her mouth pleading with him.

His mask was unwavering, as cold as the stone of the Alderaanian mountains.

"Revan, please!" she cried, her voice echoing against the airlock's walls amid her hammering.

A red light above the door flashed in response to her plea. An alarm buzzed frantically, drowning out her voice, counting down. She could feel the air being sucked out of the airlock, back into the ship, in preparation to flush her into space.

"Revan!" her voice strained. "Please, listen to me! It wasn't me! It wasn't me!" That last sentence she repeated over and over to a seemingly deaf statue.

At last, he peeled his mask off. The eyes that met hers were hard and vindictive, a deep bitterness buried deep within them, its foundation an even deeper pain.

Pain. She'd caused him pain, and he wouldn't forgive her for it.

"Revan," she sobbed. "I'm sorry. Please, I'm so sorry."

A smirk formed on his lips—a smirk she had once found charming, but was now utterly terrifying.

_And now you know what it's like to be betrayed._

That chill voice in her mind was the last thing she heard before the ground was violently torn from her feet and her body ripped into space. Her lungs screamed for air, but not a sound met her ears.

"Ma'am."

A deep cold set into her limbs.

"Ma'am?"

The blackness of space blanketed her, swallowed her alive.

"Ma'am!"

Bastila's eyes snapped open, and saw the uniformed figure standing above her, next to the empty seat to her left.

"General, I'm sorry to wake you. We've been cleared to land. ETA five minutes. Ground control has advised us to take safety precautions due to weather conditions."

Bastila stared back at the man, momentarily confused. His pilot jacket stung her eyes with its bright orange tint, forcing her to blink.

"There's still high winds due to the WeatherNet malfunction, Ma'am," he clarified. "You'll want to strap yourself in."

She slowly nodded. "Yes. Yes, thank you, Lieutenant," she said, the Talravinian _V_ sound in _lieutenant_ quivering ever so slightly off her tongue.

"Are you all right, Ma'am?" the older man asked. Carth Onasi, if she recalled correctly. The commander in charge of her escort.

She waved him off. "Yes, of course." But he was still standing there, his brow crunching. For good measure, Bastila pulled the safety belt across her lap and secured the clasps. Satisfied, the older man nodded and returned to his own seat among several armed soldiers—her personal guard, as well as Revan's wordless reprimand for her reckless duel with Canderous Ordo.

With a relieved breath, she settled back into her seat, her hands subconsciously gripping the armrests. Her clothing felt damp with sweat, and she wiped her face dry with her robe sleeve. She heard a beep and a dwoop to her left, at the feet of the empty seat.

"I'm fine, T3," she murmured. "It was only a dream."

Or a premonition. She dismissed the thought, letting her gaze drift to the transport window to her right. Outside the stars swept past, and a vast orb lit with the nightlife of the galaxy's seat of power slid into view as the shuttle maneuvered for its final approach. The orb grew in size, the lights subdividing into smaller ones, until they were obscured by a blanket of dark clouds lit by the sun dawning on the other side of the globe. Then the ship, too, was blanketed. More like eaten alive, the hull shuddering as though it were being chewed between razor sharp teeth. Bastila instantly regretted eating that packet of nuts an hour before. A flash of lightning lit up the rain drops pelting the window, and the ship rolled as a gust of wind tossed it aside like a sheet of paper, causing her safety strap to tighten its grip on her stomach.

At last, the pummeling ceased, replaced with a peaceful quiet. They were beneath the clouds, the rain gently misting her window amid shafts of sunlight that graced their beady droplets. The ship touched down as quietly as a leaf. Bastila took a short moment to revel in the release of tension following her stomach's survival of the landing. Finally, she unbuckled her safety belt, and stood.

"Well, T3, that's another adventure we can add to our memoirs."

The little droid released his magnetic clamps that gripped the transport floor, dwooping merrily.

She spotted her armed escort at the ship exit. "Lieutenant, I don't think an escort to the Temple will be necessary."

Onasi looked at her inquisitively, an eyebrow raised. "Are you sure, Ma'am? It's rough out there."

"Absolutely. Enjoy your time off."

"If you're sure, General." He pressed a round button on the wall, opening the landing ramp.

Unfortunately, the pilot's expert landing had concealed just how rough the weather truly was. Even before the landing ramp fully opened, Bastila could hear the rush of wind beating through the cracks. She donned her hood, preparing for the worst as rain sprayed into the open jaws of the ship. She already regretted her decision, but her cursed pride wouldn't allow her to retract it. Perhaps she had been overeager to shed herself of Revan's overprotective watch. She'd practically been under lock and key for over two months, even when she _wasn't_ negotiating with Mandalorians. Then again, trekking through bad weather was a small price to pay for freedom.

Head held high, she waded down the ramp. T3 ploughed through the wind just behind her, his wheels squealing to keep up. Beneath the dark clouds and blanket of horizontal rain, Bastila could just make out the Jedi Temple ahead. As her feet hit the landing platform, another gust of wind buffeted her, whipping her robes and tearing away her hood from her head. Her hands threw her hood back in place, gripping it tightly in a silent command to stay. She worried she herself would be swept away into the depths of Coruscant along with her hood if another gust of wind like that assaulted her.

Fortunately, she hadn't been entirely abandoned to such a fate. A lone figure was beating a trail toward her, likewise gripping a hood. She thought she heard her name called out as the figure waved an arm, but the sound was lost in the vortex. Rather than wait, Bastila burrowed ahead to meet her host halfway.

"Bastila! You made it!"

She well knew that voice. "Master Sunrider?" A smile crept onto her face. How she had missed her old mentor! "What are you doing out here?"

But a few paces more, and Master Sunrider was enveloping Bastila in a hug that would rival a Gamorrean mother's for her litter. Gratefully, Bastila returned the gesture, though perhaps more out of needing something stable to which to cling against the wind.

"I came out to meet you, you silly girl!" Nomi shouted, at last pulling away. "It's so good to see you! Come in, come in! We've been waiting for you!"

With Master Sunrider's arm still gripping Bastila's shoulder, they trudged toward the temple, its marble steps and towering stone walls flashing ominously in the not so distant lightning strike. Oh so carefully, Bastila picked her way up the steps, careful not to slip on the slick marble, T3 picking his way up one step at a time just behind her. Perhaps it was the sheer bulk of metal that weighed him down against the wind, or the clasps on his mechanical feet, but however it was that the little droid managed not to so much as slip filled her with envy.

Finally, the last step was behind them, Bastila feeling not unlike a mountain climber victoriously reaching the summit of a planet's greatest peak. Two sentries rushed them through the door. Bastila happily shed her soggy robe and handed it to a waiting apprentice, who bowed as he took it.

"Th-thank you," she stuttered, hesitantly bowing her head in return. It struck her as strange to be waited on, let alone respected as a Master. Her eyes squinted. "Yari, is that you?"

"Yes, Master," the boy said through a gap in his teeth, his words mixed with a child's spittle.

"You're so tall! I almost didn't recognize you." Her hand fluffed his fine hair. "You're going to be taller than I am if you keep it up. Is it your turn for page duty again?"

"Yes, Master. Do you need anything else, Master?"

"No, thank you. That will be enough."

"Master Sunrider?" the boy asked, holding out his already full arms.

Nomi likewise shed her robe and laid it in Yari's arms. "Thank you, Yari. Do you think you can get another droid to send in some tea and caffa to the conference room?"

The boy eagerly nodded, and then disappeared with pattering feet, nearly tripping on the pile of soggy robes dangling from his arms.

"They grow up fast, don't they?" Nomi said.

Bastila nodded, felt the hand on her shoulder, and knew without a doubt that Yari wasn't the only one to whom her old Master referred.

"Good thing you landed when you did," Nomi said with a pat to Bastila's shoulder. "I think you just lost your window to leave."

"Haven't they fixed it since I left?" Bastila said, shivering from her damp hair and clothes.

"Several times, but the machinery, I'm told, is just impossibly too old and rickety to work with. In fact," she said, taking Bastila's arm and nudging her down the vast hall conspiratorially, "a secretary in the Senate building tells me that the chief WeatherNet engineer quit!"

"Has he no replacements?" Bastila asked, forcing her legs to keep up with Nomi's quick, long strides.

"None quite so experienced. Rumor has it that he grew tired of fixing the thing and left just this week. If you ask me, though, I think there's another motivation for keeping it broken."

"Oh?"

"The city budget is being voted on. I suspect the city council will use this incident to get the citizens riled up. They've done the same with the transit system. If enough citizens call the Senate demanding for a WeatherNet upgrade or more trains..."

"I see. But why not just cut spending on anything frivolous?"

"Oh, how I've missed your sweet innocence! They won't cut their own paychecks! Certainly not that school memorial with their names and faces plastered all over it." They reached the end of the hall. "Now, I'm sorry to rush you, but do go get freshened up. The next session is starting in twenty minutes. We're eager to hear your updates."

"How many sessions have I missed?"

"Three. Four, if you count the Chancellor's opening speech yesterday morning, but fortunately I had other matters to which to attend."

Bastila snickered. Publicly, Master Sunrider was the epitome of diplomacy. Privately? She was brutally honest.

"Go on. We're on the third floor, northwest corner conference room. Perhaps afterwards you and I can have lunch?"

"Thank you, Master," Bastila said with a bow. But Nomi had already disappeared up the stairway in the general direction of her office.

T3 spun his chassis back and forth, like a dog shaking off fleas—only, he was shaking of a spray of water, and Bastila was caught in the blast radius.

"T3!" Bastila shrieked. "Some manners, please."

The little droid beeped and dwooped an apology, though Bastila was certain he only meant it as a formality. The tin can was programmed to annoy her to no end in even the slightest of things. The thought made her pause momentarily, reminding her of him, and her recurring dreams.

With a shake of her head, she dismissed the wayward thought, and marched up the opposite stairway to the second floor. She paused halfway as she finally noticed what could only be the Supreme Chancellor's personal security scattered along the railing of the floor above her, some eying her warily. She passed one at the top of the stairs.

"Just...heading to the dormitory," she said.

The man didn't flinch, not even to nod. Slowly, Bastila stepped past him, a flush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks as her wet boots squeaked across the marbled floor. Her pace quickened as she neared the women's dormitory, and after excavating dry robes from the shared closet, she stole the first unassigned dormitory room, shutting the door behind her like an escaped prisoner hiding from her jailers.

Fresh clothes—they made everything better on a day like this. Certainly, there was nothing like a fresh pair of dry socks. She pat dried her somewhat damp hair with the blanket on the bed. Likewise, she dried her datapad, which had somehow become wet even though buried within a pant pocket. But it was no use. Steamy condensation clouded the screen from the inside, rendering all her rubbing with the blanket useless. Would it turn on at least? She was rewarded with a flicker of light, followed by a pixelated mess of mixed colors, as though the Queen of Naboo and her handmaids had all applied their cosmetics to its surface.

"Drat!" she muttered. She'd have to requisition a new one. At least T3 had a backup of the data in the meantime. "I suppose that means you'll be attending our meeting," she said to her companion. At the ensuing silence, she raised an eyebrow, suspicion lacing her words. "You'd better not be recording me again."

"Dweeeeeeep!"

"I thought so. Wipe it. Now."

The droid complied with a low, achingly melancholy beep, a mechanical scratching of its internal storage device signaling that the deed was done.

"And may I remind you that if you've been posting any footage of me whatsoever on the HoloNet..."

The droid beeped frantically as it shook its entire chassis.

"Precisely. You'll be scrap metal. Now, we'd best get going. We're late enough for these proceedings as it is."

She gave him a loving swipe of her blanket over his damp chassis, and the two misfit companions left the small dormitory room. As irritated as Bastila was with the droid, she couldn't really fault him. She certainly would never scrap him. Now his programmer, on the other hand... She shook that thought, frustration at the constant reminders creasing the corners of her lips downward. Under normal circumstances, of course, her mind would be too preoccupied to think about him. Focus would drive all such thoughts away—that is, until her head hit the pillow. Then she would be at the mercy of her restless dreams, waking up more exhausted than when she fell asleep. But today would be different. Because he would be there. And if his railings on the HoloNet News were any indication of his disposition, he wouldn't like a thing she had to say.

_No, don't think about that. Just focus on something else. Pretend he isn't even there._

They climbed the carpeted stairs to the third floor, her boots sinking snuggly into the lush fabric with each step.

"Down this hall, T3." She led the droid to their destination, pausing at the double door to the conference room, the two guards on either side seemingly ignoring their presence, though Bastila knew otherwise.

"Now," she whispered to T3, "before we go in, promise me you'll be quiet. This is a very important meeting. Don't do anything to embarrass me. Understood?"

The droid dwooped and beeped, its chirping somewhat subdued and serious.

"That's a good little droid. How do I look?"

Why did she ask that? Was she really so self-conscious around him?

The droid did a little dance.

"Flatterer," she mumbled. She stepped forward, the doors sliding open in response. The first person she saw was Master Sunrider, who smiled widely at her entrance, almost mischievously, as though she well knew that Bastila's heart was already hammering in her chest. Bastila's eyes swept the room, looking for any other familiar faces.

Her breath caught in her throat. He was indeed there, standing in a small clump of politicians that included none other than the Supreme Chancellor himself. Deep in conversation, he didn't look her way. It took her a moment to redirect her gaze, to shed the paralysis that froze her entire body. Eyes turned in her direction, all but his, and she turned her own eyes to the Chancellor, who now extracted himself from his conversation with a quick wave of his hand.

"Welcome, Knight Shan. I see you've arrived intact. Horrible weather, isn't it?"

Bastila inclined her head. "Thank you, Chancellor. I hope your own arrival here wasn't impeded?"

"Hah! Lightning nearly struck my transport. Can you believe that?" He'd sidled over to her, and was now taking her hand in his. "It is an honor to meet you at last." He inclined his head, but not before Bastila could get a quick look into his eyes. There was something there, something... Maybe it was her Jedi instincts, or lack of sleep. But his eyes seemed plastered, like a shield wall between him and her, the real man buried deep beneath a facade. All just a show. She wondered if there were hidden press cameras snapping holoshots of the moment. But she merely smiled, murmured her thanks.

He took her arm and steered her toward the others. "Here, have you met Senator Stazi?"

A Duro took her hand and bowed. Bastila readied to bow in return, but he was replaced with yet another politician. A woman—Senator Merias. She knew the name before Chancellor Antilles ever spoke it, recognizing the overly stretched skin wrapping her face from the HoloNet News. She shook hands with all of them, one by one. Some she already knew. Ambassador Disra. Admiral Dodonna. Masters Kavar, Vandar, and Zez-Kai Ell. _No, the pleasure is all mine_. _No, not too wet_. _Good to see you again, Master. _The formulated responses rolled off her tongue like rain drops on the room's windows. Revan was notably missing among her welcomers.

"Here," said the Chancellor, tugging at her arm once more. "We've reserved the best seat for you. You're the guest of honor today."

"You do flatter me, Chancellor," Bastila said with a slight chuckle.

Chancellor Antilles steered her toward the long table at the far end of the room before finally releasing her arm.

Then there he was, standing near the end of the table, holding out a chair for her. His mask was gazing in her general direction, though she couldn't tell whether he was making eye contact with her. She kept her own gaze fixed on the chair itself, and the gauntleted hands that gripped the back of the chair. She slid into the cushioned seat, purposely failing to thank him as he scooted her into the table. She vaguely sensed T3 roll behind her and tuck himself against the wall, as unobtrusive and invisible as the room's furnishings. But above all, she heard the rustle of wood against fabric as the masked man of her nightmares—yet quite possibly the love of her life, if she had the courage to honestly form her mixed emotions into words—sat beside her to her right, his proximity sending adrenaline pounding into her system. All her concentration was spent keeping her eyes averted, but not obviously so. The Chancellor! Yes, that was the perfect place to look. And natural. Very, very natural.

Chancellor Antilles drifted to his seat at the head of the table, at Bastila's left. Yes, he really had saved a seat of honor for her, though it baffled her as to why. She was just a messenger today, and no more. He folded his hands neatly on the chestnut wood.

"Well, now we can begin these proceedings in earnest. Master Sunrider, do you care to fill in our ambassador to Clan Ordo?"

"Of course," Nomi replied, seating herself across the table from Bastila with a devious wink—one that knew precisely how hard her former Padawan's adrenal glands were working. "We've made a few revisions to what we can only hope will be the final draft of the treaty. Mostly widening buffer zones between us and them. However, we're still debating what systems constitute their territory, based on their latest proposal."

"I trust you've gone over our last revision with General Ordo?" the Chancellor asked.

Bastila nodded. "I've done better than that. General Ordo has provided me with a last-minute counterproposal from Mandalore himself. I would have transmitted it ahead of time, but I supposed with the lightning strike on Coruscant's long-range communication nodes, my ship would arrive before my message would."

"Indeed, indeed!" the Chancellor said, grinning broadly. "Tell us his proposal. It must be something if it delayed your arrival."

Bastila nodded. "He is conceding Onderon, along with the the full relinquishment of all Mid Rim territories and various Outer Rim territories. If you'll allow me, I have a map of their proposed territories." She turned in her seat, motioning to T3.

The droid didn't respond.

"T3!" she hissed. "Don't you _dare_!"

Was that a snicker she heard from the prankster to her right?

At last, the droid's chassis lit up, and he rolled forward, his mechanical "eye" projecting an image of the galaxy to the center of the table.

Relieved, Bastila stood, facing her audience. "As you can see, Mandalore has conceded all conquered Republic territory, as well as some neutral territory. Although, I will add that he considers some of our territory to be neutral. From his perspective, this is a great act of generosity to concede these systems. You will also note that as an act of good faith, he is already withdrawing his forces from Onderon to Dxun. Onderon will be free once more by the month's end."

"Splendid news! This exceeds our wildest expectations!" the Chancellor beamed.

A snort punctured their elation, followed by cloudy silence. All eyes turned to Revan—except Bastila's, of course. She slid quietly into her seat once more.

"Did you have a concern you wished to voice, Revan?" Master Sunrider said at last.

"You all fail to recognize what territories have not been conceded," Revan said, his voice strained through his mask's vocabulator. "Breshig. Hraki. _Cathar_." The last word dripped with poison, as though a personal slight had been paid to him. Bastila could see several Jedi Council memebers rubbing the bridges of their noses, or, in Vandar's case, shaking their heads.

"Are you saying we shouldn't agree to anything at all, then?" the Chancellor said. "How can we possibly arrive to an agreement without compromise?"

"All I'm saying, Chancellor, is that perhaps if you raised your _wildest_ expectations just a notch, you would realize how short this offer falls."

"Revan, I understand your concern. I really do. But we've reached a point in negotiations where we know this is the best we offer we will ever receive."

"Cathar, Chancellor. This planet's people are scattered across the galaxy, near _extinction_, and you would tell me that you would surrender their only home to which to return."

"It's not a member of the Galactic Republic, Revan. How many times must we debate this? The Republic must tend to its own concerns."

"So you would abandon them merely because they refuse to join your Republic and pay burdensome taxes to decorate your posh office?"

The Chancellor raised a hand, his face red, barely in control. "May I remind you," he said tightly, "that you are here in a military capacity only. As much as I appreciate your input-"

"Then as your military advisor, I urge you not to concede these territories. You need a wider buffer zone between you and them."

"And we do have that, Revan. They have ceded Onderon."

"You will note carefully that they are maintaining a military presence on Dxun. Would you want your enemy staring into your own back yard? They're but a moon away!"

"And they will be disarmed. You'll see."

"Only their warheads and chemical weapons, many of which they can easily conceal. You're allowing them to maintain a beachhead. The very same they used to invade us."

"Mandalore's honor is at stake. He wouldn't dare break the treaty."

"Honor?" Revan snorted. "If he possessed that, he wouldn't have invaded in the first place. But then, maybe your definition of honor is the same as his."

The Chancellor's face turned a shade redder, if it were possible.

"Enough!" a gravelly voice spoke.

Revan leaned back in his seat, the Chancellor visibly calming in response. Bastila loosened the two fists her fingers had formed.

Master Vandar spoke again, his green ears twitching. "We have gathered here to speak of peace, and yet this debate is anything but peaceful. How can we end a war with Mandalore, if we war with ourselves?"

Chancellor Antilles smiled. "I couldn't have spoken better myself, Master Vandar."

Bastila could hear Revan seething ever so slightly through his mask.

"Knight Shan has more to say, doesn't she?" Vandar said, nodding in Bastila's direction.

She swallowed, knowing that Revan would certainly not appreciate the rest of the terms she was about to present.

"Yes, actually," she said. "While it is true that Mandalore would like to reach a speedy resolution, if his offer seems overly generous, it is because it comes with various stipulations."

"Does he want Coruscant?" Revan said, and Bastila could almost feel his smirk.

"No," Bastila said, narrowly restraining herself from rolling her eyes. "First, he insists on our own disarmament."

"Preposterous!" Admiral Dodonna exclaimed. Murmuring followed.

Bastila raised a hand. "It's not what you think. He considers the Republic's most dangerous weapon to be the Jedi themselves. He wishes for all Jedi to withdraw from active military involvement, and return to their respective enclaves, or else retire in peace." She turned in her seat, facing Revan at last. "He especially named you," she said softly.

Revan snorted. "Over my dead body. I have no intention of stepping down from command on the whim of a Mandalorian."

The Chancellor shook his head. "I have no issue with these terms. You were to be relieved of command upon the signing of the treaty anyway."

"Oh, was I now? And if they invade again? May I assure you once more, they most certainly will, the very moment they regain their strength."

"Revan, it is a time of peace. If we need you, we'll call."

"The Jedi are not toys you can take out of your toy chest whenever you want to play. It took many precious months to rally the Revanchists to war, and a year to gain momentum. If the Mandalorians strike again, I may not be able to summon the Jedi to your aid as before. It would be best if we patrolled the demarcation line until the peace is deemed certain."

The Chancellor shook his head. "The terms are clear. The peace will not be certain if you do not return home. I am sorry, but I am afraid you must step down from command."

Icy silence followed, the tension in the room so high Bastila could hardly breath.

"Relieve me of command, then," Revan said at last. "But I took a vow as a Jedi to protect the Republic. I won't be returning home. Neither will many of the Revanchists, especially as we have no guarantee of being welcomed home."

"Revan," Master Sunrider interjected, ever so softly. "The Council has long discussed this matter. You will all be welcomed home eagerly. If you have any doubt of this, all Padawans who participated in the war will be knighted on recommendation of a Knight or Jedi Master of the Revanchist ranks, effective immediately. Please, come home. I have no doubt you can rally your followers swiftly should peace turn to war. I promise we will support you in that event, as we perhaps should have in the beginning."

Bastila could feel Revan soften, the tension seeping out of the room momentarily. She reached out her hand beneath the table, and rested it gently on his arm, where none could see. He turned his head slightly to look at her.

"Please," she whispered, her eyes peering past his mask. "The war is over."

A shared memory passed between them of a promise he'd made, and for a moment it seemed to Bastila as though no one else were in the room but them. She could hear him let out a breath beneath his mask. Was he wavering?

But Chancellor Antilles spoiled that precious moment, making Bastila wince. "I echo Master Sunrider's sentiment. I'd personally like to give you and your top generals the Cross of Glory upon your return to Coruscant. Your great service to the Republic will not be forgotten."

Revan's gaze coolly shifted to the head of the table. "Give your medal to the dead who can never return home. In the meantime, this war is not truly over until every last rock is returned to their original owners, and the Mandalorians fully withdrawn and isolated to the system they crawled out of. I will patrol the demarcation lines, even if I stand alone. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I've been relieved of military command, and my presence is therefore no longer required."

Revan rose from his chair, dislodging Bastila's hand from his arm. But she couldn't let him go just yet.

"There is one more term," Bastila said.

All eyes turned to her, and Revan froze. She swallowed hard, knowing the impossibility of ever reaching a peace agreement with what she was about to say.

"Mandalore and a general representing each clan will sign the treaty. Likewise, he would like ranking commanders of both our Navy and the Revanchists to sign, including Revan. This term is non-negotiable."

"Oh, bother," the Chancellor muttered through the hand that now rubbed his chin.

Bastila raised a hand, signaling she had more to tell. "Mandalore has also offered his word that this treaty and the peace between us will not be broken, as long as he leads his people. And while I know that that does not guarantee peace after his death, his own promise is all that he himself can guarantee. He cannot guarantee peace from an unknown successor if his word is to remain true."

Revan snorted, his arms crossed.

Bastila ignored the immature gesture. "To demonstrate that his word is indeed true, he has chosen to bestow the highest honor his people know, provided we return the same honor and likewise demonstrate that we will keep our word. At the signing of the treaty, Mandalore will remove his mask."

Several at the table gasped, particularly those veterans of the Exar Kun War, understanding the implication. No Mandalore had ever removed his mask willingly, least of all to an enemy. Even the Senators sat up straight in their chairs.

Bastila took in a deep breath, knowing that the masked Jedi General before her would not agree to this one bit. "In return, Revan will remove his mask as well, and the two will take a blood oath, each cutting the palm of his hand and pressing their cuts together to seal their oath in the presence of all signees. They will then drain their mixed blood into two cups of ale, and drink from them with their forearms interlocked, signifying the end of the proceedings. The two will then depart as friends and allies, bound to their oath of peace through blood, until one or the other should depart from this life. This entire ceremony is likewise non-negotiable."

The room fell silent. Bastila gazed at Revan's mask, wishing she could make eye contact to read him. But he just stood there, arm's crossed. She could only guess that he was enjoying this bit of sweet revenge, stretching out every moment.

"Well," Revan said at last, looking around the room. "You'll just have to inform Mandalore that I've been relieved of command, and that my signature is no longer relevant. I wish you good fortune in renegotiating those terms."

With that, he marched out of the room, a sudden burst of protests following in his wake.

"Wait! Revan!" the Chancellor cried. But it was too late. The door swooshed shut behind Revan, leaving the room in a cacophony of debate, Master Sunrider's words of assurance that she would speak to Revan barely rising above the din.

Bastila buried her face in her hands. It would be a long time until lunch.


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: Sorry for the long wait. Real life happened. But I'm back! I hope you enjoy this long anticipated chapter. There may not be a lot of action in it, but it does set up the necessary groundwork for future chapters. The next chapter should have plenty of action for you. :)

**CHAPTER 23**

_Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit._

"He hurt you, didn't he?"

Bastila stirred from her thoughts, peeling her gaze from the steady stream of hailstones that were pelting the transparisteel-enforced window.

"I'm sorry?" she said, her brow furrowing.

"Don't play coy with me, my dear," Nomi said, laying her fork down beside her rice bowl. "It's quite all right. You can tell me. I'm not Master Lamar."

"I…It's nothing, Master. I'm just tired."

But Master Sunrider would have none of it, as usual. She laid a wrinkled hand on Bastila's. "Tell me what happened."

Bastila stared down at the motherly hand, a hand she had needed so desperately to guide her these last months. But what was there to be done now? What advice could she receive that could possibly change anything?

"Well?"

Such a simple question, with such a complex answer. Bastila let out a shaky breath.

"I don't know where to start," she said.

Nomi patted Bastila's hand, and pulled away, leaning back into her chair. "Start from the beginning, then," she said. "What happened when you left here?"

Bastila stared down at her half-empty bowl of rice, unable to form the words that would order the confusion she felt.

"Do you love him?"

The question dried Bastila's mouth. How could she answer that? She rubbed the bridge of her nose, stalling any reply.

"Do you care for him? Let's start there."

Bastila swallowed, and finally looked her Master in the eye. "Yes," she whispered, her lips quivering.

"That was easy, wasn't it?" A warm smile crinkled the corners of Nomi's lips. "Now, do you love him?"

Bastila's brow furrowed. "I…I don't know. It isn't that simple."

"What isn't simple about it?"

"Everything."

"Do you know if he loves you?"

Bastila nodded. "He…he told me he did. But…."

"But then he pushed you away. I think I understand now."

The young Jedi stared down at her cold rice, picking at the grains with her fork. A few moments of silence passed. Nomi was now granting her space–a chance to think, to organize, to know what to even ask.

Bastila finally broke the silence. "He said when the war was over, then perhaps…." She trailed off.

"Then you have an ulterior motive for him to sign the treaty."

"No, I do want peace. Not only for myself. I just…." Bastila snapped her gaze up, her pent up frustration at last finding words to vent. "It's just that I don't know if _he_ wants it. You've seen the news. They're calling him a warmonger. And the truth is, I'm starting to agree with them. It's as though he doesn't know how to let anything go. He's vindictive. And I'm not simply drawing that conclusion from his speeches. I've seen glimpses of it in him–towards the Council, towards the Mandalorians. He won't even forgive _me_, I don't think."

Nomi raised an eyebrow. "Forgive you? What did you do?"

Bastila leaned back in her chair, feeling even more spent after her short diatribe. "I disobeyed an order."

Her Master's eyes lit in understanding. Slowly, she nodded. "I see. You are referring to Dxun?"

"You know about that?"

"The incident was in Revan's final report to the Council on your progress. I had my doubts regarding your motives, but he insisted that your actions fulfilled the requirements of the Trials."

"You doubted my motives?"

"Were they pure? Did you save his life because it was the right thing to do, or because of your feelings for him?"

Bastila chewed on her lip, unable to answer. Or unwilling. She stirred her rice with her fork, thought about taking a bite, and decided that what remained of her meal was far too cold to be salvaged.

"So now we know why he pushed you away," Nomi said. "But allow me to pry deeper. Why are you afraid?"

"Afraid? I'm not sure-"

"My dear, you're not going to be demoted if you admit you have a weakness. One, I would add, even Jedi Masters struggle against. We have little hope of overcoming it if we don't do so together. You can tell me."

Bastila gathered her thoughts, and let out a heavy breath. "I suppose I'm afraid of _him_, really."

"Are you afraid he'll hurt you again?"

"No. Well, I suppose somewhat. Even if he signed the treaty, would he even return to the Order? I'm not sure where that even leaves us. And if the war reignited for any reason, he would simply push me away again."

"He's left you in uncertainty. That's where you need to stop worrying about the future. Save tomorrow's troubles for tomorrow."

"Yes, I know. And I've tried so very hard to push him from my thoughts. But there's more. Master, I must ask you something. I've needed to see you about it for some time. Perhaps I should have written to you, but I didn't know where to start."

"Go on," Nomi said.

"I've been having dreams."

"Dreams?"

"Nightmares. In each one, Revan kills me."

Nomi's brow crinkled in concern. "How long have you been having these dreams?"

"Over a month."

"How often?"

"They were sparse at first, but now they're nightly."

"Is it the same dream, or different each time?"

"Different. Sometimes he kills me with his lightsaber; at other times he drowns me or strangles me. In my last dream, he threw me out an airlock."

"I take it violent dreams aren't normal for you."

"No, of course not. I don't know what could be triggering these. I've even tried taking sedatives. Nothing helps."

"I see. Do you feel they are a warning?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you. That, and how to get a restful night's sleep again."

"In your dreams, why does he kill you?"

"Because I've betrayed him in some way, but I don't know how."

"Interesting. It could simply be your fear triggering these dreams."

"Master, in these dreams, his lightsaber is always red. He's turned to the dark side."

"Red? Not even Exar Kun used a red lightsaber. Only the Sith species favored those, and they've been extinct for a thousand years. That is a strange detail."

"Yes. I don't understand it."

"You seem to be afraid he will fall."

"I suppose I am afraid for him, yes. But even given his vindictiveness, these dreams seem far-fetched."

"Perhaps not as far-fetched as you believe. Nevertheless, there are two possibilities. One is that you are simply dreaming of your worst fears. The other is that you are having premonitions of the future."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"That doesn't mean it's set in stone, my dear." Nomi laced her fingers together, and leaned back in her chair, her eyes pondering. "Think of your dreams as possible futures, with your worst fears determining which futures you see. As long as your fears drive your dreams, you will never see anything but the worst possible futures. At least, that's what my dear old Master told me. Either way, the solution is to manage your fears, rather than bury them."

Bastila stared down at her cold rice, mulling over Master Sunrider's advice.

"Master?" Bastila asked, hesitant. "Do you think he's capable of what I dreamed?"

"That is a difficult question to answer. What do you think?"

"I think…that I've seen a darkness in him. As I've already said, he has a vindictive side. I've only seen glimpses, but it's there."

Nomi rose from her chair. "Come. Let me show you something." She strode to her desk, and pulled open a creaky old drawer.

Bastila followed her, peering over her shoulder as she watched her Master excavate a small datapad from the clutter. A soft glow lit its screen. Nomi flicked through its contents with her finger, searching.

"There!" she said triumphantly.

Bastila's brow scrunched. A young boy stared back at her. "Who is that?" she asked.

Nomi grinned. "Who do you think?"

"No," Bastila said, shaking her head. "It can't be." But the eyes were the same.

"Not exactly the Jedi Knight you know today. You see, my dear, no one suddenly wakes up one morning an evil Sith Lord, or even a heroic Jedi General. We start off as young Revan here, each with a clean slate, a conscience, and a moment by moment choice as to whether we will do what is right or succumb to our selfish desires. Revan's journey is far from over. He still has more of this boy in him than the angry young Knight you've come to know. Don't give up on him just yet."

Bastila nodded. "How old was he when you took this?"

"Hmm. We took this not long after he arrived on Coruscant. I'd say he was roughly six years old."

The young Jedi's eyes narrowed as she spotted the date in the lower corner of the image. "He's only seven years older than I."

"Oh yes. Quite the prodigy, isn't he?"

"He made me call him _Master_," Bastila said incredulously.

Nomi barked with laughter. "My dear, you never had to call him _Master_! He was only supposed to mentor you for your trials. How old did you _think_ he was?"

"Old enough to know better," Bastila said, shaking her head ruefully, yet unable to help but crack a smile at Revan's audacity. Her eyes shifted back to the image, studying the young boy's bony cheeks. A slight grin lit his face, as though he were afraid to smile in full. His slumped posture betrayed a vulnerability she'd never seen before. "He looks…underweight for his age."

"Yes. This is the first picture we ever took of him, not long after he arrived on Coruscant. He didn't have the same head start in life that you and I had."

"How so?"

"I suppose he's never told you much about himself?"

Bastila shook her head.

"Well, don't feel slighted. He never was one to speak about his past to anyone. He was so quiet when he first arrived. All we know is that he is from an outer rim planet. We're not even certain which one."

"How can you not know?" Bastila leaned forward, entranced at the image. No one had ever spoken of Revan's past before, and she absorbed every word eagerly.

"Well, you see, Master Kae found him in a refugee camp on Deralia."

"A refugee camp?"

"The Mandalorians had raided a few nearby planets. Deralia took in the survivors. We suspect Revan is from one of those planets, but it is equally possible he was born in the refugee camp itself. Anyway, Master Kae caught him trying to pick her lightsaber off her belt. Unbelievable gall that boy had, to pick the pockets of a Jedi. He almost made off with her credit stick, too, even if he couldn't grab the lightsaber."

Bastila smiled. Master Sunrider always did have the best gossip to share.

Nomi powered off the datapad, and replaced it in its drawer. "Would you like some more tea, dear?"

Bastila's smile turned to a disappointed droop. She had hoped to uncover more of the mystery that was Knight Revan. "Yes, thank you, Master."

"I can't tell long stories without something to wet my throat, and I'm sure you'd like something to sip while I blather on." Nomi shot Bastila one of her knowing winks.

Bastila returned to her seat, grinning eagerly as she folded her hands on the small table. Nomi refilled their tea cups, and settled down, seeming to straighten her robes as slowly as possible, and sipping her tea with an agonizingly long drought that only a Jedi Knight with specialized training in patience could endure, and barely at that. At last, Nomi leaned back, fully prepared to tell her tale.

"Now, where were we?" Nomi said. "Ah, yes! The poor boy was half starved when he came here. No parents, wouldn't talk. We couldn't even get a name out of him. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if he'd never been given one."

"What sort of parents would do that to their child?" Bastila asked, lifting her head from her tea cup.

"He had no parents. They either died while he was still small, or they discarded him. You see, prostitution was a common means for women to survive the refugee camp. Food was very scarce. Deralia had itself been hit very hard in prior raids. Mothers often abandoned their children. We can only imagine how Revan survived so long on his own."

A surge of pity swelled through Bastila's chest. Never had she endured such hardship. Still, she couldn't help but feel some admiration for him, if only for surviving with his humor intact.

"So we gave him a name," Nomi continued. "And oh, how we all loved him! That smile of his could melt your heart. In fact," she said with a smirk, "it seems it already has melted yours."

The young Jedi blushed, taking another sip of tea to hide her embarrassment.

"But you know, it never ceases to amaze me the misinformation that outsiders will believe about the Jedi Order–that we snatch children from their parents, like kidnappers. It's simply not true. We so often take in some of the most desperate cases–the abused, the starving, the dying. Take your own case, for example."

Bastila snorted. "My mother wanted to get rid of me. I cost too much for her standard of living."

Nomi shook her head. "Is that what you remember? No, your case was about to become very dire. Your parents were having difficulty giving you three meals a day, and were on the verge of losing their home, such as it was. Of course, all this is from your records, but I'd imagine they only wanted the best future for you–what they themselves could not provide."

Bastila furrowed her brows. She didn't remember it quite like that. But then, her mother always had to spend, spend, spend.

"Anyway," Nomi said, "we all loved that boy, even though our few belongings would disappear and find their way into his pockets. It took a few years to rid him of that habit. I doubt I'll ever see my favorite paper weight again."

Bastila raised an eyebrow.

"He liked detention, you see. Especially with me. I tried to ignore his thieving ways to make the behavior stop. That never worked. You see, I think he also stole for so long out of fear. He seemed frightened that we would change our minds and send him back to Deralia, so he'd hoard anything and everything, including food. We never thought for a moment of sending him away, of course. We endured his pickpocketing until a young Alek Squinquargesimus finally put an end to our suffering."

"How so?"

"Well, one day, young Revan foolishly picked a much older and larger boy's pocket. When Alek realized his datapad had gone missing….Well, he didn't react very kindly. Let's just say the two ended up in detention after a bit of a tussle."

Bastila giggled. "How did those two ever become friends?"

"I've often wondered the same," Nomi said, with a reminiscing smile. "I suspect Revan placated Alek by helping him with his studies. Somehow, those two discovered they were more effective at terrorizing the Temple together than apart. They are the worst pranksters you'll ever meet. Just ask my daughter, if you have any doubts."

"By the Force! What did they do to Vima?"

"They dyed her hair green, among other things."

Bastila cringed in horror. Nothing she had endured had changed her hair color.

"Of course, none of his misbehavior ever stopped us from loving that boy. He'd do anything we asked, without complaint. He always seemed to give back far more than we invested. All he ever needed to do to get out of trouble was flash us one of his contagious smiles. In the end, our little pickpocket stole our hearts."

Nomi sipped her tea again, as if preparing for the next chapter of her tale. Her face turned sad, the sparkle in her eyes fading. Bastila sat riveted, hands gripping the table as she leaned forward, knowing that this tale was about to inevitably turn to tragedy.

"As much as he stole our hearts," Nomi said, "we never quite had his. Revan's heart belonged to only one Jedi Master–Arren Kae. He latched onto her fiercely as though she were his mother. When she was off world on a mission, he'd wait for her at the front door as soon as class let out, hoping she'd return early. When she was on world, he'd follow her into the Archives, pretending to read the pages when he could not. When he at last learned to read, he would practically memorize any book that she gave him. He was in the Archives so much you would have thought he would grow up to become the next Keeper of the Archives. Of course, like Kae, he could not simply sit still with the information he'd learned–he had to act on it.

"When he came of age, he refused any Masters desiring to take him as a Padawan. Only Master Kae would do, though we told him she already had a student. But he wouldn't listen. He delayed his own advancement for nearly a year waiting for Kae's Padawan to take her trials. Some of us were concerned over his level of attachment, including myself, but we let it slide. After all, he had learned so much from her already, and the two were so alike in interests. They were a perfect match, and we all knew that he could more than make up for any lost time in his training.

"Then at last her Padawan was knighted. Revan devoured everything Kae taught him. You never saw a happier young man. Of course, that golden season came to an end, as they all must. Regrettably, their parting was not due to the bittersweet ascendancy to knighthood that most Padawans experience."

Bastila inhaled a sharp breath. "Arren Kae was exiled."

"Yes," Nomi said with a slight nod. "She had an affair with a married man, and had kept it hidden for many years. Adultery is unconscionable to our Order. Entire wars have ignited over far less. We are supposed to be peacekeepers and protectors. Our neighbors need to be able to trust us on every level. She knew this, and yet as our representative to the Echani people she broke their trust and ours. I'm sure I don't need to tell you how important family is to the Echani."

The young Jedi shook her head. "Is there no room for forgiveness?"

"Oh, there is, but Arren Kae only sought our forgiveness after we discovered the existence of her child. It is far better to come forward before you are caught."

"I see."

"Her pleas were nevertheless half-hearted. She returned quickly to the man who had fathered her child, and continued her affair for a time, which is precisely what we had feared would happen. You see, time exposes how sincere an apology is. If she had not returned to her old ways, the Council would have reconsidered her case.

"But as you can imagine, it wounded Revan deeply to watch Kae choose to continue her affair rather than be the mother he needed. He shut down to everyone. Not long after, he transfered to Dantooine to study under Master Zhar. Alek followed him, of course. You never could separate those two trouble makers, and not even Revan could stand to push his friend away. But he never truly attached to anyone again. He eventually returned to us here at Coruscant, changing Masters as often as he changed his socks, until at last he took his trials.

"Still, we never stopped praising him, trying to reach out to him–that is, until the Mandalorians escalated their attacks against the Republic. When the Republic called for aid…. Well, as I said before, Revan could never sit still with any information he'd learned; he had to act on it. Perhaps the pain of his early childhood drove him. Who knows what terrors he might have witnessed as a small boy?

"Regardless of his motives, we wanted him to wait a while longer. We had lost so many Jedi from the Exar Kun War, you see. We are still only just recovering our numbers. To plunge us into another war, against an enemy that in times past had only ever attacked us if there were fallen Jedi or Sith commanding them…. We could not afford to enter blindly–not without first knowing what truly drove our enemy.

"But Revan would have none of it. He was impulsive, much like his old Master. Unfortunately, things escalated. The debates became more heated. I must admit, not even Jedi Masters are above fear. Those of us who remember the horror that washed over the galaxy because of Exar Kun's fall were afraid, myself included. It was precisely how his fall began, after all–one young Jedi thinking he knew better than the rest. All our efforts to convince Revan, or to restrain him, only pushed him further away. He left us, and we in turn wiped the very name we gave him from our Archives. We overreacted, of course, to our undying shame–to my shame. We've tried since to make amends, to reach out to him. He will have none of it."

Nomi's voice faltered, and Bastila used the long silence to mull over the information. She gazed down at her tea. They had indeed wiped Revan's name from their records, just as Revan had said. At last, the question that she'd stowed away in her mind ever since Dxun and even Corellia had now been answered. It was no wonder he hated his name.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Bastila said.

"Well, it's only fair," Nomi said with a wry grin. "He does have full access to your records." She fell somber once more, and laid a hand on Bastila's, her gaze intense. "And because I feel you ought to know about him, before you get in too deep. You are correct regarding his vindictiveness. Allow me to caution you. Once someone gets on the wrong side of him, he never forgives them. He's always been that way, ever since Arren Kae."

"But Arren Kae serves under his command. I don't see how he hasn't forgiven her."

"Oh? Then you've met her?"

"Well, no."

"No? Not even over a holocall? Surely a high ranking Jedi General would report to Revan directly."

"She's not that high in the chain of command."

"She isn't?"

But Bastila didn't answer. Revan truly hadn't forgiven his old Master–one of the few Jedi with the rank of Master among the Revanchists, and one who ought to have been in the top leadership, not in the trenches.

"Now you understand," Nomi said. "Be careful. I would hate to see you get hurt. But who knows? You might yet soften him."

"Master," Bastila whispered, still staring down at her tea. "If the worst happens, how do I face him? How did you…." She looked up. "I'm sorry if I've overstepped my bounds. It's just that I've heard you had to…."

Nomi looked down for a moment with a sad nod. "Gossip does travel through these halls, doesn't it? Though it would probably help if I learned to talk less myself." She fell silent. Bastila waited, uncertain whether her Master would speak on the subject. She wrung her hands beneath the table.

At last, Nomi took in a deep breath. "Andur Sunrider was a fine Jedi," she began. "You would have liked him. He was brave and kind. My father, of course, couldn't see past his Jedi vow of poverty. He had grandiose dreams for his only daughter, but he couldn't stop my heart from feeling as it did. Eventually he relented, still reluctant, but he loved me enough to want to see my happiness. Andur never could give me the things my father expected a man to give me. He never gave me a ring, for example. Instead, he gave me the only thing of worth a Jedi carries on his person–a lightsaber crystal he'd harvested from a cavern. It was a simple wedding ceremony. A year later, and we had a daughter. We may have been poor in material goods, but we were rich in happiness.

"Then one day I lost my Andur." She paused for a moment, swallowing a lump in her throat. "It was so tempting to seek revenge, but I didn't. He wouldn't have wanted that. I became a Jedi, I suppose, because I wanted to honor his memory, even though that way of life is the very thing that took him from me. I never thought to remarry, that I could possibly love another man. My training in the ways of the Force, and the war with Exar Kun, consumed my life.

"Then I met the man whose name is now known with infamy in these halls, though it wasn't always so. Ulic Qel-Droma–it's amazing how quickly one can forget one's sorrows when new happiness arrives. For the first time, I could feel again. The fear of loss always hovered over me, but I knew I couldn't live under its shadow forever. The crystal Andur had given me had kept me entombed with him, and I knew he would have wanted me to move on. I threw it into a river, to be carried away freely.

"But I did lose him, in the end, and at my very hand. He betrayed us all, and I was faced with a choice–to follow him into the dark, or to confront him. I stripped him of the Force."

Nomi trailed off, her eyes staring out the window, where the sun still hid behind the blanket of clouds and hail.

"Master," Bastila said, her voice quivering. "I don't know if I could ever, if the worst happened…."

Nomi turned back to her apprentice. "Then you are not a Jedi Knight, not truly."

"What do you mean?"

"We may have awarded you the title, but you have one trial yet to face–one which you should have overcome at Dxun."

"The Trial of the Flesh."

"Yes. You must face your fear of loss. Then you will truly be a Jedi Knight."

"How?"

"Stand for what is right, no matter the cost to your person. If you truly believe that this treaty is the way, then go. Confront your fear. Convince him, or else break with him. And while you're at it, slap him."

"Slap him?"

Nomi grinned. "Yes, for leaving you the way he did. He shouldn't get away with it."

"I tried slapping him; it didn't work out."

"Oh?"

"But what makes you think he'll listen to me at this point?"

"Because he loves you. Just give him another hour to cool off."

Bastila bit her lower lip, uncertain. Could she really change his mind when he seemed so intent on pushing her away?

"You must eventually face your fear," Nomi said. "Dreams or no, I see it in your future. You will be forced to make a choice, whether you are ready when the time comes or not."

Bastila shivered, knowing her Master was right. But she couldn't let her fear stop her. She rolled her shoulders back, determination setting her jaw in a firm line. "Another hour, you said?"

Nomi flashed her a wide grin.

* * *

><p>Hiding in plain sight within the Archives, his lack of a mask ironically giving him anonymity, Revan riffled through the flimsiplast books, precariously balanced on a ladder as he searched the shelf for his quarry. <em>Corellia, no. Belsavis, no. Ord Mantell, no.<em> His leg complained as he stretched for a higher shelf. Would the blasted thing ever stop bothering him? The low pressure produced by the out-of-control WeatherNet didn't exactly help. How he longed for the steady air pressure of his ship and a heat pack!

_Dantooine. There!_

Now to find one with the right survey dates. Something from a few hundred years ago would do.

His hand froze as he felt a familiar presence wafting toward him, like a sweet citrus aroma, or a cool evening breeze on the plains of Dantooine after a warm summer day. There was no mistaking her unique signature, nor the soothing affect it had on his troubled mind. Even at her most turbulent, she was more like a wet water spout to his open flame. Though at the moment, she was fuel about to be tossed on him. Now was not the time. He felt his blood pressure rise in annoyance. Nomi Sunrider knew exactly how to manipulate him.

"Revan."

Despite the tug of her soft, melodic voice, he didn't deign to look down. Instead, he grabbed one of the books and began flipping through its pages, looking for the right map. Maybe she'd leave on her own. But did he really want that? No, no, it had to be this way. It was for the best.

"I challenge you to a duel."

Revan lowered the book, and glanced down toward Bastila, who stood at the foot of the ladder, gray eyes unwavering, though he could sense the uncertainty beneath her steady gaze.

"Knight Shan, do I honestly look like a Mandalorian?" Revan said, incredulous.

"Well, you do wear a Mandalorian mask." Bastila's hands went to her hips. "It can be so confusing at times."

"Let me guess. If I lose, I sign the treaty."

"The brilliant Jedi General Revan demonstrates his strategic thinking once again."

"And what exactly do I get when I win?"

Bastila frowned. "_If_ you win, you can go back to being bitter and angry, and I'll leave you alone."

"I'm _not_ bitter or angry."

"Pardon me. My mistake. You're as cheerful as a ray of sunshine. Regardless, I'm sure you can come up with something equitable if you win."

Revan shook his head, returning to his book. "We're not deciding the fate of the galaxy over a sparring match."

"What's the matter? Afraid your old student will get the better of you?"

"Hardly."

"Then what?"

"Maybe I'm just worried you'll forget to keep your lightsaber in training mode again."

"Are you implying that I have a reason to be upset with you?"

"So you admit that _you're_ the bitter and angry one."

"Be nice, or I'll kick down your ladder."

Revan peeked over his book to look at her. "You wouldn't dare," he growled.

"Accept my challenge, or I _will_ dare."

Revan slammed the book shut, replacing it on the shelf, and glared down at his former Padawan.

"At least," Bastila said, more subdued and serious, "if not for the sake of the galaxy, then spar with me one last time, for old times' sake?"

Revan's face softened, if only for a moment. "I'm afraid I'll have to decline," he said, his jaw set stubbornly once more, and turned back to sifting through flimsiplast, careful to keep one hand gripping the shelf in case she followed through with kicking down the ladder.

But she didn't. He only heard her melodic voice, so quiet, as if reciting a dirge.

"Goodbye, Revan."

When he stole a glance down again, she was gone, the feather touch of her presence already faded.

He stared dejectedly where she had stood. Nomi Sunrider had a way with knifing a man in his heart.

Blast her.

* * *

><p>Nomi Sunrider straightened another pile of datapads on her desk, her system of organization meticulously placing them three inches away from another pile. To the untrained eye, of course, her desk appeared as the hail storm outside had blown through her study. But to her, it was in perfect order. She grabbed a datapad from another pile, and began to read. Another report–or lack thereof. Another scouting team gone missing.<p>

She spared a quick glance to the little boy in the corner. Yari was still faithfully facing the wall, though fidgeting. She let it be, and returned to her reading.

Any other Jedi would have been too engrossed in her reading of the report to sense a shift in atmosphere. But Nomi felt it. It was like a change of air pressure signaling the arrival of a cloud system. There was no mistaking his presence, even when he tried to mask it. The Force was simply too strong in him, his signature too unique to her trained senses. Then again, there were some things no amount of Jedi training could teach. Deduction was one of them. Even if Revan could have successfully hidden his Force signature from the Grand Master of the Jedi Order herself, Nomi Sunrider would have known of his arrival to her study, simply because she had been expecting it.

"Come in," she said before Revan could even knock, her eyes never leaving the datapad.

Revan stormed through the door, hardly waiting for it to shut before he launched into a diatribe. "How dare you send her," he growled.

Nomi raised an eyebrow nonchalantly, lifting her eyes from her reading.

"Who?" she replied innocently.

"You know who." His fists were clenched.

"I don't send people, dear. They go of their own accord."

"You didn't need to involve her in our quarrel."

"It seems to me she is already involved," Nomi said, smiling. She'd hoped those two would be a good match, ever since Bastila told him off in front of millions of sentients on the HoloNet News. "Do have a seat."

But the young Jedi Knight remained standing, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes in suspicion. "I don't know what you're implying, but whatever it is, I don't want her involved."

"I'm not implying anything. I'm stating a simple fact. She is already involved, whether you like it or not. You can't protect her from every scrape and bruise. She's a Jedi Knight now."

"Then allow me to likewise state a simple fact," Revan said, bracing his hands against her desk and leaning over her. "This treaty places her life in danger."

Nomi stole a glance at Yari, whose head had turned away from the corner. "Yari, dear, you're free to go."

"Yes, Master," he said, spittle flying from between the gaps in his teeth. He bowed, and then scurried out of her office, leaving her and Revan alone.

"You obviously care very much for her," Nomi said gently, eying the young Jedi studiously.

"Yes, I do."

Nomi leaned back, surprised that Revan was so forthcoming. There was no embarrassment to be read in his face, no breakage in the firmness of his voice. Of course, once he decided on something, he rarely showed regret for following it through. "What's truly troubling you?" she asked.

"The spy has issued another encrypted communication."

"Which is what we expected."

"It came from Bastila's ship. Again sent with her identification number and hacking her pass phrase."

Nomi nodded. "So changing her assigned ship doesn't help, nor does replacing her bodyguards."

"I suspect more than one. They are perfectly positioned to assassinate her." Revan sat down at last in the guest chair opposite Nomi's desk, his face drained of color, exhausted eyelids heavy. "After the treaty is signed, as soon as the Mandalorians are ready to go to war once again…."

"Why only her, I wonder?" Nomi said. "Why not you? It seems to me you're the real prize. It wouldn't surprise me if you are a target as well, even if they haven't yet revealed such intentions."

"I am well aware I could be a target. But it's not how Mandalorians operate. I'm a worthy challenge that needs to be defeated in battle. It would be taboo for them to assassinate me."

"But not Bastila?"

"No. Her unique ability makes her a mysterious sorceress to them. They abhor her for being physically distant from the battle."

"In other words, we're cheating."

Revan smirked. "Funny, I always thought war was about who could cheat the best. Apparently our enemy has rules."

Nomi laced her fingers together, relaxing into her chair. "Well, perhaps you should try a new tactic to keep Bastila safe."

"Which is?"

"Come home with her. Protect her here, at the Order."

Revan sniffed disdainfully, an obvious reaction Nomi had anticipated.

"She'll be safest here among us, with you as her protector."

"Yes, but who will protect me from her?"

"Did you do something to upset her?"

The young Jedi General merely smiled.

"Mmm, you must have. But I hear she isn't the only one who is upset with you. How is Alek? I understand he wants to return to the Order."

"Have you been spying on me?" Revan said, smiling playfully, not showing that her knowledge of his falling out with Alek bothered him the least.

"Let's just say you're not the only one who knows how to get useful information. Don't think for a moment that I don't know how you found out about Bastila's Battle Meditation," she said, deflecting from her own trading in information. "Really, did you think I wouldn't catch on that you were bribing the Council pages?"

"What makes you think I use little children as spies?"

"Perhaps it was the Corellian candy I found in Yari's pockets today, and his grouchy drop in blood sugar levels after his sugar high."

"I can't fathom where he got candy from," Revan said innocently.

"And I caught him right outside my study listening to me and Bastila over lunch."

Revan waved his hand. "Entirely circumstantial. Maybe he simply likes detention with you. I know I do."

"Is that the real reason why you're here?"

"It's the red hair," Revan said conspiratorially. "Can't get enough of it."

"Shame it's almost entirely gray now."

"Yes. I suppose I'll just have to get detention with Vima instead."

"Stay away from my daughter," Nomi said, a wrinkled finger held up in teasing warning.

"She still doesn't forgive me for the green hair?"

"Don't forget how you tried to fix it with red paint." The older Jedi rested her chin dreamily in her hand. "Besides, she's getting married. We need her hair to be perfect for the ceremony."

"Congratulations. When?"

"Soon. Before the ban."

"Ban?" Revan scoffed. "They're always talking about banning marriages. They never do it."

"This time is different. Too many followed you to war due to loyalty to family. Having seen this temptation overtake so many when Exar Kun fell, you can imagine why the Council would like to eliminate future familial ties."

"You know," Revan said, "I rather take affront at the implication that I'm leading Jedi to the dark side."

"No affront is intended. We simply see a pattern repeating itself. But perhaps you'll find it strange that at times I feel some sympathy for this new direction, even if I do fight against it publicly."

Revan raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I'd like to spare you all the pain of having to choose. Not many can bear to follow their ideals over love for another."

"Is that why you sent Bastila to me? To have her choose?"

"I only encourage my students to do what is right. Or do you think that she should compromise her stance on this treaty, and discard all that she's worked toward these past months, just to please you?"

Revan fell quiet, staring at Nomi's desk. The old Jedi Master could read the turmoil that stirred behind his eyes. He was yet undecided, uncertain of his course. There was hope yet.

"Come home," Nomi said softly.

Revan didn't stir.

"You're needed here."

"For what?" Revan said, still looking down. "For doing absolutely nothing while the galaxy burns?"

"Revan, the Jedi Order has not been idle while you've been at war. There is another threat, and it is growing."

"And you still have no proof of it, after all this time."

"Another scout ship has gone missing."

"It's the Unknown Regions. Anything might have happened to them. It proves nothing."

"We need this lull in the war, Revan. It may be to the Mandalorians' advantage, but it is to ours as well. If we can find our true enemy and defeat it, then this war can truly end. Help us search."

"The Sith are extinct," Revan sniffed. "The Mandalorians fight for their own goals now, and not for anyone else. Mystery solved."

Nomi slowly exhaled her frustration. She knew they'd end up arguing if she continued to press the matter directly. She signaled her surrender with a change of subject.

"So, I understand from Atris that you were in the Archives today in the cartography section. Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Mostly."

"Ancient maps from early space explorations is a rather unusual search topic. What planet interests you, if I may ask?"

"Dantooine."

He was forthright again. Nomi needn't have pondered why, of course. She could have found out what books and scrolls he had removed from their dusty old shelves if she wanted, and Revan knew it. But she did ponder why his response almost dared her to ask why Dantooine interested him.

She declined to ask. She didn't like a dare from him. He was playing Dejarik with her, baiting her into capturing a piece on the board. If she took the bait, he would stop being so forthright. She wanted truth, and it was best to pry information from him that he was willing to share.

"Well, I hope you enjoy the remainder of your time in the Archives. I have it directly from the WeatherNet engineers that this storm will be dissipating within the hour." Nomi flinched as a ball of hail punched into the window behind her with a crack, as if in protest. "Hopefully. At any rate, you are welcome to stay as long as you'd like."

"Thank you for your hospitality," Revan said, standing from his seat, and giving her a formal bow.

Nomi stood as well, likewise bowing. "Oh! Before you leave…."

Revan turned back to face her.

"I have something you might be interested in reading." She pulled open a drawer, and lifted out a flimsiplast book, its pages plainly bound by transparent sheets.

"Not electronic?" His interest seemed dampened.

"I'm afraid not. We're in the process of translating and electronicizing it. But let's just say that not all our scouting of the Unknown Regions has been fruitless. This is one of ten copies of a manuscript unearthed at an archaeological dig site of an obscure moon on the outer rim. We believe this moon to have been an ancient Mandalorian outpost that was once in operation during the Great Hyperspace War. The original document is in old Mando'a. The consensus is that it is the first Mandalore's own account of the last days of the war. This copy has some of the harder passages roughly translated, but I trust with your own knowledge of modern Mando'a, that you'll be able to make sense of the rest."

Now she had his full attention. He nearly snatched the book from her hand as she handed it to him. "It's yours to keep," she said.

Revan smiled, genuinely, without a hint of his usual sarcasm. "Thank you, truly."

"You're not fighting this war alone. We've merely been fighting on different fronts. We can fight the same front together this time. I know a certain young lady would like that very much."

Revan's sarcastic smirk returned. "Now Master, I know very much how you'd like that, but there can never be anything between us so long as a certain brunette is in my life."

Nomi smiled. "Oh, you flatterer!" she laughed. "Shoo! Out! Before I give you detention for smooth talking."

"Very well, Master."

He left with another crisp bow, and shut the door behind him. She wasn't certain what future she saw in him. It seemed more war than peace lay ahead of him on his path. She could only hope that he didn't fight that war alone this time.

* * *

><p>Bastila Shan sat at her old nook at the mostly-empty study hall's window sill, watching the hail begin to finally dissipate into rain. A ray of sunshine peaked out through the clouds, reminding her sadly of a similar day just over a year ago–reminding her once more of <em>him<em>. She shook her head, returning to the report on her datapad.

"Knight Shan."

She snapped her head up at the familiar voice. Revan stood but a few feet from her. Why hadn't she sensed him sooner?

"I'll sign."

Both of her eyebrows shot up. She searched Revan's eyes, and saw only a cold determination gleaming from them.

"But I have a few terms of my own I would like to add."

Bastila crossed her arms, leaning further back into the window sill, frowning skeptically.

"First, that you will immediately transfer to the _Ravager_ under my direct command."

This was…not what she had expected.

"Second, that you spar with me each morning for as long as you are assigned to my command.

"Third, that you pour my caffa from now on. The caff's been horrid lately, in no small part due to a certain protocol droid that's even more stubborn than yourself.

"Fourth, that you put the usual touch of cream in my caffa, no sugar."

"Is that all?" Bastila said, barely keeping her voice level, her burning ears surely beginning to turn red at the implications.

He continued, as though she hadn't interrupted. "Fifth, that you agree to accompany me on a mission to Dantooine, as well as Tatooine, Manaan, and Korriban. I'm sure that you don't need me to detail the reason for it.

"Sixth and finally, that after the signing, you and I will have our own negotiations over dinner."

Bastila was afraid to ask, but she managed anyway. "What negotiations?"

"I've drawn up a number so that you can think about it ahead of time." He handed her a sheet of paper, having only a number on it. Ten.

"Ten? What's this number for?"

Revan put on his most charming smile, the one reserved for flirting. "How many children we're going to have."

Bastila sat mortified, jaw hanging open, unable to utter a coherent response.

"Ten's not enough? All right, I'll consider fifteen."

He bowed deeply at the waist, and left her blushing furiously, thoroughly scandalized in front of two curious Council pages.

* * *

><p>Chancellor Antilles ran his hand through his thinning hair for the umpteenth time, his eyes riveted to the HoloNet News. A rival had been nominated for the chancellorship, Senator Stazi. And who would be standing beside him at the announcement other than the Revanchist.<p>

"Do you see him, Merias?" he spoke over the comm channel. "He should be standing beside _me_! I gave him everything! His promotions, his own fleet, even his own blasted flagship!"

"Calm down," Merias' voice crackled after a delay. The blasted encrypted channels always had the worst quality, and the longest delays between replies. "We had a contingency plan for this, remember?"

But Antilles wasn't listening. All he could hear was Revan's speech, given in the now shining Coruscant sun. "Chancellor Antilles has served us well in war," he was saying. "But now a time of peace is coming, where we must rebuild. Senator Stazi has admirably led his people in rebuilding his home world after such tragedy."

"Chancellor, are you there?"

"Yes, yes, I'm here." He rubbed his forehead, hunching over his desk.

"You know what the solution is. I know people who can…take care of it. But I'll need your cooperation."

"What do you mean?" he asked, weariness lacing his voice.

"Your poll numbers will continue to slip now that there is a clear alternative, and one having the Revanchist's blessing. Systems will vote in senators who will, in turn, vote in a different chancellor. But not if there's a crisis."

"The people are tired of war. I'm giving them peace."

"And you're giving them no reason to keep you–to keep our party in power. They will want someone fresh at the helm."

"What do you propose? We can't just…_deal_ with Revan outright!"

"No. That will make him a martyr. Stazi will surely win. We need to tear down the symbol that is the Revanchist."

Antilles felt uneasy, though he couldn't explain why. "How?"

"We need a war. At the signing ceremony for the treaty, we…_deal with_ Mandalore, and frame the Revanchist. The war hero who couldn't stop fighting….It will make headline news. Stazi will slip out of popularity, and we will resume driving the Mandalorians back to their home worlds."

The Chancellor's uneasiness turned to outright sickness. "Do you have any idea what you're proposing? How could we possibly win without him?"

"He's done most of the work already. We'd fight for a while, then graciously propose another ceasefire as an apology for their great loss. If they don't like our apology, I'm sure the remaining Revanchists will be glad to help us gain a final victory."

This didn't feel right, but then again nothing had since he'd run for his first political office–city councilman of a sector of Coruscant. He normally didn't care to be bothered by his conscience, or what was left of it. In fact, he didn't entirely care that Revan would have to be dealt with. The Jedi General had turned against him, after all. Yet his stomach turned inside him with acid, despite his impeccable logic. He poured himself another shot into his glass, and tossed his head back as he drank it empty again, the liquid burning his throat. He was doing that more and more lately.

"What do you need from me?"

"I need your personal security to be…out of the way when the treaty is signed."

He hesitated. Something still felt off. Not just his unusually squeamish stomach. Years of political posturing and lying gave him the experience to know that Merias had her own self-interest beyond those of their shared party's. But watching the Revanchist shake hands with…no, _embrace_ that red-eyed Duro in front of trillions of viewers made him shrug that subtle warning aside. When had Revan ever _embraced_ him?

He made his decision. "I'll have my head of security contact you," he said, and disconnected the channel.


End file.
